Burning Bridges
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 5) A mission to an abandoned Seegson facility leads Gunnery Sergeant Gorman to uncover a slew of information surrounding a relative thought to be lost to the passage of time, and the dark corridors of Sevastopol Station.
1. Chapter 1

_June, 2135_

_To: Mrs. Esmerelda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA; Earth_

_From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station, KG-348 orbit; Zeta Reticuli System_

_Subject: Arrived at Sevastopol_

_Hi, Em,  
_

_I arrived at Sevastopol a couple days ago. I'm sorry I didn't send a message as soon as I got here. Starting to see why everyone's saying I need assignments a little closer to Earth. I certainly never felt like I was getting older until coming out of cryo and my first instinct was to throw up, and I had a feeling of overall weakness. Dizzy. Couldn't walk very far without needing to grab onto something. Yeah, this is what the people on this station need to see of their new Marshal as soon as he gets there.  
_

_Took a day or two before I felt like I could hold down solid food without keeling over. Once I was able to walk without assistance, I got a chance to see the station for myself.  
_

_It's . . . quiet, to say the least. Not sure what makes this a "cosmopolitan hub," like the guys up top said it was. Whoever took on the project of fixing up the place did a sorely half-assed job. I could do a better job while really hungover and vomiting my guts out.  
_

_I guess now you're wondering why I took the job. Well, I can't blame my superiors for not seeing that the place is bordering on a ghost station, because whoever's in charge here probably lied to them, in order to convince them to send their best man for the job, and for me to volunteer. I figured a busy station would mean more work for me. I told you I'll do this till I really can't anymore. Not sure how long I'll be here, but I'll send as many messages I can. If I really don't feel good when I'm next moved, I might think about being moved to the new Gateway station. No cryo needed for when I want to come down and visit you and my nephew.  
_

_How's Micah doing, anyway? Let me know when he marries his girlfriend. The one he has now. Colleen. If he marries her, I'll let him have my truck, the Blazer. It'll be my wedding present. That way he doesn't resort to a fucking minivan if he has kids. She's a good girl. Only one who was nice to me last time I visited.  
_

_I know I haven't really acted like it, but, I really miss you. You're my little sister and always will be. Let me know how things are going. I'll send another message soon.  
_

_Lots of love,  
_

_Jethro_

* * *

_March, 2175_

Gunnery Sergeant Scott Gorman stepped out into the freezing air from the comfortable warmth of his vehicle. He adjusted his uniform, shivering as he tightened his scarf. Such was spring in the northeast. Cold and wet.

"I can see why you've told me you don't miss this very much." A woman with shoulder-length hair and bright green eyes huddled next to him. "It's chilly and cloudy and miserable."

Putting his arm around his wife, Gorman remained silent. "I'm going to miss her, though."

They walked out to a sprawling cemetery, hand-in-hand. Grass and flowers were beginning to bloom again. The only sounds were that of chirping birds and the cold breeze. It wasn't very difficult to find his grandmother's headstone; it was one of a couple that were fresh. Grass hadn't begun to cover the soil upturned for burial of the casket just a few weeks ago. His grandfather's was right next to it.

Lydia's grip on her husband's hand tightened as they paused in front of the stones. "She was a very nice lady. You've made good use of her Irish recipe book that she gave us for our wedding."

"Ninety-four years old and she insisted on joining everyone on the dance floor at the reception." A grin crossed Gorman's face. "You'd think she was going to live forever watching her. I guess . . . I'm just glad she lived a long and mostly happy life."

"'Mostly?' God, Scott, she was the happiest granny I've ever met. And even that's an understatement."

Gorman sighed, seeing his breath in the freezing air. "Well, as far as I know, I was the one who helped her become more happy. Always told me I looked so much like her brother. I can remember she'd get . . . really angry whenever Granddad talked about him. I heard two stories about my great-uncle. One was about a man who was stubborn and angry and selfish. The other was about a kind-hearted man who just had difficulties showing his affections and was very lonely all the time. He disappeared about five years before I was born, never heard from again. Apparently, Gran never talked about him until she started to see him-Uncle Jethro-in me. Not just in my face, but in the way I acted. Mom always took me out of the house whenever Gran and Granddad had their arguments about Uncle Jethro, so I never . . . I never really knew that much about him. I thought about asking Gran after Grandad passed a few years ago, but, because of my job, I never had the time. Guess I never will know the real story now."

"Geez, I'd always had the impression you had the sweetest family in the world."

"Everyone has their arguments. But, no, Gran wasn't happy . . . all the time, but she was nice to everyone who walked in her door. I guess it's the fact that she was never certain about what happened to her brother that really set her off every time someone talked about him in a negative light." Gorman looked down at the headstone. "Anyway . . . time for goodbye. Thanks for all the memories and the love over the years."

He stood there for a few minutes, afraid that if he turned, the stone would disappear. Lydia gently took his hand, and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Scott."

"It's OK. It . . . It'll be OK." Gorman massaged Lydia's hand with his thumb. "Thanks for coming with me."

"You shouldn't have to do this alone. Plus, it's my job." Lydia offered him a smile.

"Even when it's cold and I'm unhappy, your smile makes me feel better." Gorman hugged her. "I love you." He kissed her forehead. "Alright, I guess . . . I guess we can leave Gran to rest, and go somewhere for an early lunch."

As the two got back in the car, Gorman let out a heavy sigh when a short flurry of snow struck the windshield. "Fuck this weather."

Lydia smiled. "At least you're stationed in South Carolina. Nice down there."

"I just wish you were with me."

"If I wasn't up for promotion and a better salary at my job, I'd quit and move with you. I'm really happy having seniority at the store. Means I have more control over things."

"And if you're happy, I'm happy for you."

"Are you happy advancing in rank?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm happy for you, too. We can deal with the distance."

Gorman smirked, then the smirk faded. "If only Mom didn't keep asking when she's gonna see grandkids. We're just not in a good position yet. I'm sorry."

"You think your mother's annoying? You should hear mine."

"I have. Why do you think I panic every time she comes over?"

"Well, you're gonna have to think of a new 'panic plan,' because she's getting suspicious every time you hide in the bathroom."

The snow had turned into a light, but very cold, rain when Gorman parked in a lot near a cozy-looking diner at the edge of the town, overlooking a vast, green field. "Kinda reminds me of the little place we ate at when we honeymooned in Ireland," Gorman said.

"You made the old waitress cry when you placed your order in Irish. She wasn't expecting that at all from a tourist. Free bread every single day for you," Lydia replied.

"I was not a tourist. I was home. No matter how many generations have passed since your forefathers left Ireland, you are still Irish, and Ireland is your home." Gorman linked arms with Lydia, pulling her close as they walked up the steps to the diner. "I told you that."

"That's right. You did. Several times."

* * *

It had been a challenge just getting a few days of personal leave. A funeral was one thing. Just visiting a gravesite was another. Still, having just a few days meant a lot, even though they ended quicker than they came.

Parting with his wife at the airport was hard. Gorman stood in his uniform, two heavy duffel bags slung over his shoulders, while Lydia held only one suitcase, plus her purse. Their flights to Chicago and Charleston were leaving around the same time, giving them two hours together.

"I'll be honest, I . . . sometimes I feel like I'm failing, when . . . when I can't be with you all the time," Gorman said, an urge to cry suddenly swelling in his chest.

"Aw, sweetie, no." Lydia put her arms around his neck. "You're not failing, I promise. You'll call when you get there, right?"

"Yeah. One of my squad members' contracts is ending, so I have to be there to meet whoever's being transferred in to take his place." He rested his head on top of hers. "I'm gonna miss you, darling."

"I'll miss you, too. I'll be thinking of you on Saint Patrick's Day."

Gorman smiled, despite the tears running down his face. "I'll be thinking of you, too. Wishing I could be home cooking for you."

Lydia wiped the tears from his face with her sleeve. "We'll see each other again soon."

"Yeah." Gorman kissed her cheek. "As soon as I can."

Parting became harder as the hours turned to minutes, when they both had to go to their gates. They shared one last kiss, before Lydia picked up her suitcase and jogged down to her gate.

A heavy feeling latched onto Gorman's heart as he adjusted the straps on his bags before falling into the line of people waiting to get on the plane. He felt lonely. He looked in the direction Lydia had ran, and couldn't see her. Then he caught a glimpse of her showing her ticket before being allowed to board the plane. And she was gone.

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. After showing his ticket, he boarded his plane, and once he found his seat, he remained in his head for the duration of the flight down to Charleston.

Being this conflicted with himself was often painful. He loved his job. He loved his wife. He can't have both at the same time. She's happy with her job back home, and it would be selfish to ask her to quit in order to move on-base with him, take up part-time jobs at every city they traveled to, making less than what she was earning now. It wasn't fair, or helpful. It could strain their relationship, and that was the last thing he wanted.

* * *

_2135_

A surge of nausea came in like a tide. Waits could see it coming, see the water gathering up, and then colliding with the shore. He leaned over the railing overlooking Sevastopol's Spaceflight Terminal, heart pounding out of fear he'd vomit over the side, probably hitting one of the people below.

_I probably shouldn't be looking down. _Waits straightened his back, taking a breath. There were plenty of restrooms around, but they were all occupied. The last thing he wanted was someone thinking their new Marshal was hungover, or carrying some virus that could spread to the whole damn station.

He could throw up in his apartment. He cursed himself for thinking that the aftereffects of cryo had finally faded. Oh, they were still there. All it took was one wrong move, one really bad decision for breakfast. He walked as briskly as he could to a transit station.

The last thing he wanted to feel at the moment was self-conscious in front of the Sevastopol residents on the train. They could probably see the nausea on his face, and he looked away. At the same time, looking away gave off the impression that he was unapproachable. That's not how a Marshal is supposed to be.

_How many stops till we get to the residential towers? _Waits glanced at a map, then the train came to a screeching halt. His stomach lurched hard. Even after the train had stopped completely to let passengers off, he could feel his insides roiling. Of course, there was no time for things to settle, as the train had pulled away from its stop a few seconds later as hard as it had braked.

The train and subway systems on other colonies he had served at were never this rough. Every stop and go here seemed to violently churn the contents of his stomach. Finally, the voice on the loudspeaker announced they were approaching the residential towers. _Oh, finally!_

As much as he wanted to push through the crowd to get out, that was not the right thing to do. While he still had a day to adjust before officially going on duty, he figured now was a good time to make the best first impression he possibly good. Despite the waves of horrendous nausea, he let the civilians leave first, following them at the back.

The last hurdle was the elevator. _Please be empty. Please be empty . . . Thank. God. _Waits half-slumped in the back of the elevator, gagging. Every slight movement brought about more waves. He could barely read the floor numbers on the buttons or the Working Joe android advertisement posters on the walls. Then again, he wouldn't have minded throwing up on them. The Joes were thoroughly irritating in their own way, not serving much of a purpose other than getting in the way when they repeatedly asked if he needed help. They were antiquated compared to most android models out there.

The androids produced by Weyland-Yutani had their hiccups in the past, but so did most products before they got better and better. Waits had heard rumors before leaving his last assignment on LV-109 that the Johnathan model would be receiving an upgrade, but all he'd really heard was the name of the new model, Samuels.

"Johnny" was definitely an upgrade to the Ash model. A far cry from the seemingly cold and logistical Ash, Johnny was genuinely helpful. The one on LV-109 was a real pain-in-the-ass at times, as he was energetic and eager to please literally everyone in the Marshals' headquarters. Didn't know how to tell when someone didn't want his help, but he'd be a lot more welcome than the expressionless Working Joes.

The elevator stopped with a jolt. Waits gripped the railing on the wall to keep from collapsing, walking out of the elevator with noticeable difficulty. _Just gotta go down one hallway, and then I can pray to the porcelain god-_

"Are you OK, Marshal?"

Waits was pulled from his thoughts by the voice of a woman with short, brown hair leaving her apartment. She was giving him a genuinely concerned look. _Be polite. As long as you're polite, she's not gonna think they sent a sick man as the new guy. _"I'm alright, thanks for asking."

"Are you sure? You look like you're about to be sick."

"I'm fine. Just very slow to recover from hypersleep."

"I see. You . . . must be one of the newer men, because I've never seen you before."

"I arrived a couple days ago. Jethro Waits." Struggling to swallow the ever-increasing nausea, Waits held out his hand.

"Doctor Lingard." The woman shook his hand in a firm, professional grip. "Nice to meet you. Are you positive you don't need anything?"

"I'm positive. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go vomit and lie down for a bit."

"You should come down to San Cristobal if you don't feel better in the next two days or so, Marshal. I have some meds that could help-"

"I'll be fine." Before Lingard could say anything else, Waits closed and locked his apartment door. Unable to hold back any longer, he dropped to his knees in the small bathroom, tossing open the lid of the toilet before the muscles in his stomach clenched tightly, sending its contents surging upward.

He expected to feel somewhat better when he finished, but upon sitting, he was beset by a splitting headache. Instinctively, he opened the medicine cabinet, and gave a disappointed sigh when he realized he had nothing. He'd have to go down to the shops to stock everything.

At least, for now, it was quiet. The nausea was over, replaced by a dull aching and clenching sensation. He took a drink of water-a small sip, actually, not wanting to disrupt the peace inside.

_Maybe taking this job was a big mistake. There's nothing here. Probably the most the happens here is petty theft. _Waits took a breath. _It's still a job. My job. And my job is to keep these people safe. This post will probably be a few months, like the last one, and then . . . I dunno. I don't want to quit. But Em misses me. She's got a life of her own. A husband. A grown son who should be getting married. I can't have her join me, and I'm not joining her, not after . . . all that's happened._

Not wanting to sit in silence with his thoughts anymore, Waits stood up, then paused. He stood by the window offering a view to part of the station, and the planet it hovered over. Only in a perfect world would he be able to stay close to his sister and do what he loved. It wasn't perfect, though.

Most other Marshals he had served with had retired or moved to posts much closer to their families long before they were at his age. Not Waits. He would go until he was forced to retire. A month ago, he didn't think that would ever happen. After the last couple days, his thoughts had changed a little.

Then again, after Gateway Station was unveiled to the world, perhaps that would be his next place. He could be closer to Esmeralda. He wouldn't have to deal with hypersleep.

It was something to think about.

* * *

_2175_

Gorman was bounced awake when the plane touched the runway in South Carolina. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sighed as he waited for the plane to stop moving and the attendant to let everyone off.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Gorman followed the rest of the passengers off the plane, and left the airport to find the bus that was supposed to take him back to base. He got on board the vehicle being driven by a uniformed Marine, who called, "Good afternoon, Gunny."

Gorman nodded, not saying a word. He took a seat, and tried to mentally prepare himself to return to the Marine routine.

It was almost sunset when the bus stopped at the base gates. The western horizon was tinged with pink and orange. Gorman stepped off the bus, thanking the driver as he adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. The MPs opened the gates after he displayed his ID.

"Good to see you back, Gunny," Corporal Valen said when Gorman peered into his office. "Everything alright? I'm sorry about your grandmother's passing."

"It's fine. You have nothing to be sorry for," Gorman replied. "Missing . . . Missing my wife, that's all. Wish I filled out for more time off."

"You could have if we didn't have to worry about Hallis's replacement." Valen gestured to a folder on the table. "Command sent the documents for her. They said the timing is perfect because she just graduated boot camp."

Gorman opened the folder, seeing the photograph of a very young woman with dark-brown hair tied into a small ponytail. She was giving a half-smirk, almost as though she was thinking of something mischievous. "Garnet Towers, huh," Gorman muttered. "General infantry?"

"Yep."

"Alright. When're they sending her?"

"Tomorrow morning, right after Hallis leaves."

"Sounds good. We'll have the day to introduce her around and explain the rules and regulations of how this unit operates." Gorman closed the folder. "I'm going to take out my laundry, then call everyone down for evening chow. Actually-" Gorman paused at the door, turning back to face Valen, "it's Hallis's last night with us. I'm taking us all out to eat. My treat. He was a good kid and deserves something special."

* * *

_Author's Note: The idea for this story came after fan-site AvPGalaxy livestreamed the new Nintendo Switch port of Alien: Isolation, back in late November. I joined the stream chat just looking for good conversation among fellow fans, and came away with a bit of inspiration.  
_

_While I had known that Gorman and Waits were played by the same actor, I never really thought about whether the two characters could be related in-universe, as in by blood, until sitting down and really thinking about it. It's an interesting idea to play around with, though I know there's a risk in ideas becoming cheesy when characters "magically" become related. With Denal Douglas's help, we put together a fairly strong idea. This story also features his cut Stargate character, Garnet Towers.  
_

_This story follows the "Ice Star" continuity, which is why this Gorman is nothing like how he is in the original film._


	2. Chapter 2

_2135_

The malls on Sevastopol looked deserted during the day, with only a handful of people inside at any given time, but at night, they were completely empty.

The Marshals knew this, and that was why the head at Sevastopol, a considerably younger gentleman called Hazelton, sent Waits there for a lengthy night shift, to pace endlessly.

Hazelton had been on Sevastopol for a couple years, but he was only half Waits's age, with not even half Waits's experience. Still, the younger man was the boss, whether Waits liked it or not.

There weren't a lot of people inside the Bureau. _I guess they don't need that many, given how small the population is here. _Waits walked up to Hazelton's desk, and before he could say anything, Hazelton looked up, and gestured for Waits to sit. "You're late."

"Pardon?" Waits frowned.

"You're late. I sent a message to your apartment this morning that I wanted to see you at exactly twelve noon. Apparently, you never got that."

"Well, I'm sorry. Haven't fully gotten over cryosleep yet."

"Then go see a doctor or something."

"It'll pass. I'm not wasting my time down there. Why did you want to see me?"

"To give you your first duty assignment. I'm sure you've seen that there's really not much to do around here. Theft and smuggling are the major issues, plus children going missing because their parents turned their backs on them for two seconds. Since you're still ill, though, I think I'll give you something easy."

"Look, I'm not trying to be rude with you here, but I've been at this for almost forty years-"

"And I'm telling you that your job tonight is to go down to the malls and keep watch. What's your name?"

"Waits."

"OK. Waits, do me a favor and just listen to me. The less conflict we have, the smoothly this operation can run until they finally close the place down and we can go home. Sound good?"

"Sounds fucking awesome. Want me to shit out a baby unicorn while I'm at it?"

Hazelton worked his jaw in mild frustration. "Your shift starts at nineteen-hundred. Have a good day, Waits."

* * *

Waits would never admit it to anyone, but he figured Hazelton had a point of giving him the easy jobs while recovering.

Traffic had picked up a little bit in the malls when he arrived down there, baton and revolver in his belt. The food courts were more active, and a heavy, delicious smell had filled the space. At that point, it wasn't very enticing, despite his empty stomach. Only water was staying down, and he didn't want to risk getting sick while on duty.

He could remember driving Esmeralda around town, stopping at food courts and not caring much what they ordered, when he got his license as a teenager, thoroughly enjoying their newfound temporary freedom. Two years later, she got her license and they started taking turns driving each other around. Neither of them would forget driving all the way out to Cape Cod, just the two of them. It would be their last trip together before Waits left for training at the Colonial Marshal boot camp on the moon.

Right around the same time, Esmeralda met a handsome young man named Ashton Gorman. It was the summer before Waits's senior year at high school. The two had taken a hike through the woods and were walking along the fence of a farm nestled miles away from town. Looking over the fence, Esmeralda had spotted someone working in the field. The tall, lanky man glanced in their direction, and walked over to them, asking what they were doing in the woods and near his family's property.

Esmeralda was instantly smitten with him, and ending up leaving the place with his number. As their relationship blossomed and flourished, Waits found himself spending more and more time alone. Of course, Esmeralda asked why he didn't find himself a girlfriend.

"I'm going off to be a Marshal soon. There's no point in finding a girlfriend if I'm never going to be home," Waits had said.

A part of him wished that statement wouldn't be true, but almost forty years later, it looked like it was. In short, Waits never had much luck with women, for one reason or another.

Many of the workers with longer hours had their dinners later, around eight. Most hadn't bothered to change out of their work clothes. It was easy to tell who was an engineer, a technician, a doctor. All were dirty, except the doctors. Waits would've given them hell if they showed up in a public area with blood and other potential contaminants on their clothes.

He recognized Lingard at a table, paperwork in one hand and a plastic fork in another. She alternated between eating and filling out whatever-it-was she was working on. A moment later, a well-dressed man approached the table, and sat across from her without so much as a hello. They talked for all of five minutes, before the man stood up, clapping Lingard on the shoulder as he left.

Waits folded his arms over his chest as he thought, and he continued to pace, gradually moving himself closer to Lingard without looking like he was making a beeline for her.

He didn't go unnoticed, though. "'Evening, Marshal. You're looking a little better compared to earlier."

"I _feel_ a little better compared to earlier, that's for sure. I can guarantee I probably look a lot better than I feel, though," Waits replied, shrugging. "I think it might be another few hours before I can actually eat."

"Try having something bland." Lingard pointed to one of the counters. "Sandwich place. Order a ham sandwich. They claim they put cheese on it, but they never do. Don't worry about the mayonnaise, because they don't put that on, either. Two pieces of bread and a sliver of meat shouldn't be too rough on you. Get a can of ginger ale, too, but don't be surprised if it's flat."

"Thanks." Waits headed toward the counter, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at Lingard. _Seems nice._ He also kept observing his surroundings while placing his order. _On duty, after all._

He headed back to Lingard's table. Unlike the man earlier, he gestured to the seat across from her, saying, "Mind if I sit here?"

"No, go ahead. I'll be able to rush you to San Cristobal if you start feeling ill again," she said. She glanced up from her papers, watching Waits put the sandwich toward his mouth. "Go slow. You're really asking for trouble if you eat too fast."

"If you give me anymore advice, I'll have to start paying you."

Lingard offered him a small smile, but it quickly faded as she resumed her work.

"What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just . . . you know, try to keep your voice down."

"Why?"

"Don't need Ransome getting any ideas about you."

"Who?"

"Ransome. He was here ten minutes ago."

"Oh, he was the one who just chatted for five minutes and then slapped your shoulder." Waits lowered his voice. "Boyfriend?"

"No. Seegson exec. Will either be your 'best friend' or your worst enemy if it means he benefits from you in some way. You don't want him on your back. At all."

"That kind of guy, huh."

Lingard nodded. "Very much so. Cheap as hell, too."

"Is that why the transit feels like a roller coaster? He won't hire anyone to fix it?"

"Most likely."

"Spec-fucking-tacular."

"Not even the half of it." Lingard dropped eye contact with Waits, who looked at her quizzically.

"You sure you're OK?"

"Positive. How are you feeling?"

"I don't think I'll know till I let this thing sit for an hour or two. This has got to be one of the worst sandwiches I've ever had. The only thing that'll redeem it is if I don't puke later. They serve better shit on space transports."

"Waits?"

"Yeah?"

"Welcome to Sevastopol."

* * *

The malls had quieted down completely around nine. The servers had closed their counters and were the last to leave the food court. Waits looked upward as the lights were shut off, one by one.

There hadn't been much more conversation between him and Lingard after his remark about the sandwich. An almost awkward silence had fallen, but she eventually asked him a little about himself. Small talk.

_God, last time I had any small talk with a woman was years ago._ Waits took his flashlight off his belt, turning it on and aiming it inside the closed shops. No moving shadows. He figured Lingard probably hadn't met any new people in a long time. Of course the only way to start a conversation was small talk. Being a doctor, she likely knew everyone, but she struck him as being a little lonely. Up until Waits asked about her job. She had that drive to help others, despite her circumstances. She hardly knew him, but she was more than willing to make sure he was going to be OK.

So far, his stomach hadn't threatened to reject what he had eaten in hour ago. Some cramping, but that was to be expected after not eating in so long. The three-week cryosleep and three days of close to nothing. He was surprised he was still up and walking, as he knew every nutrient he needed was probably very low.

The hours ticked by slowly. Waits couldn't find a lot of clocks on the walls, just the bright numbers on the digital ones inside the stores, their green hue illuminating the checkout counters.

By one AM, Waits was craving sleep. He had gone for far longer without sleep, but the added bonus of little food was gradually making him feel more and more tired. The vending machines were still on, right?

None of the hot beverage machines were on. Those wouldn't be turned on until six. The cold ones were on 24/7. Waits slid a dollar into a machine and leaned down to grab a can of generic flavored iced coffee. The drink was thick and sweet, but not as "perky" as he was hoping it would be. This was the kind of thing someone would drink on a lazy summer afternoon, not at the most ungodly of hours in the morning to wake themselves up. He needed something in his system, though. Anything was better than nothing. Surely, the sugar would wake him up.

He nursed the drink as slow as he could. It went from cold to slightly warm in a matter of hours. When the clock read six, there was of course no sunrise to signify the arrival of day. There was just the clock, and the lights turning back on.

When he was relieved by another Marshal, Waits headed back up to the Bureau, seeing Hazelton and two other men already up and rearing to go for the day. The smell of fresh, hot coffee filled the room. _What I wouldn't give for a cup and a full breakfast._

"Good morning, Waits," Hazelton said without looking up. "Feeling any better?"

"I held down a can of iced coffee OK. Just . . . gonna go slow with the food for today."

"Well, you have to go down to medical and have a new exam sheet filled out. I think that'll be a good time to ask for something that'll speed up the process."

"Sure. I'll do that. You want that done now?"

"Yes. Then come back."

"OK. Whatever you say, sir." Tossing his empty can in a garbage bin, Waits adjusted his cap before leaving the Bureau. _I guess sleep will have to wait._

* * *

_2175_

Gorman was up early to prepare for Hallis's leaving. He had been through this process before. At least going through it so many times meant he knew how to make sure all the paperwork was correct.

The other Marines talked with Hallis about their best memories with him. He was a modest man, and looked down and blushed as people laid on their praise and love. He gave out his last hugs and handshakes as he left the base, bag over his shoulder, and waved before getting on the bus.

"Take care of yourself, son," Gorman said. "Don't forget to write."

Hallis gave him a thumbs-up. "No problem. Thanks for everything, sir." He got on the bus, waving again through the window, then was driven off to the airport, to home.

Gorman paused, suddenly feeling a pang of jealousy in his chest. He looked at the ground. _You'll see Lydia again soon. Don't throw away your career. She'd be upset if you did that._

The others went back inside, just as another bus rounded a corner to get to the gates. Valen stepped next to Gorman. "That must be her," he said.

The bus stopped. There were a lot of other Marines on board, but only one got off. Like in her picture, Private Towers had her dark-brown hair done up in a very short ponytail. She only carried a duffel bag, which told Gorman she was definitely recently graduated from boot camp and hadn't received armor yet. Her BDUs were still somewhat clean. She looked at Gorman and Valen. "Hi."

Gorman bit his lip. "Private, we don't say 'hi' in the Marines. We say, 'Good morning, Gunnery Sergeant,' and 'Good morning, Corporal.'"

"Well, somebody told me you guys were more relaxed outside of boot camp. Guess I got lied to."

"No. We're more relaxed when you don't piss us off. Come inside, we'll get you a room and give you a rundown on the rules here."

"What's your name, Sarge?"

"Gorman."

"Nice to meet you, Gorman." Towers looked him up and down, and her gaze settled on his left hand. "Married?"

"Yes." _And I miss her very much._

"Cute." Towers turned and headed into the base.

Gorman frowned. _How on Earth did she pass boot camp with this attitude?_

* * *

After showing her around base, Gorman sat Towers down in one of the classrooms. She sat at a desk, half-slouched, while Gorman sat on top of another, lanky legs drawn up and boots resting on the back of the chair.

"Alright. Rules. Lights-out is at twenty-one hundred, Valen goes around and wakes everyone up at zero-six hundred. You are to be up and at 'em, dressed, and marching down to the mess hall within five minutes of him knocking on your door," Gorman said. "At zero-seven-thirty, we are in the gym for an hour. Zero-eight-thirty, shooting range. Afterwards is usually up to me and Valen. Either outside exercises or cleaning. Twelve-hundred is lunch. After lunch, either keep cleaning, take care of your weapons, or sit in the lounge until evening chow at sixteen-thirty. After dinner, the night is yours until lights-out. You can request passes into the nearby city during the day, but since you're new, you have to wait about two days before I allow you to have passes, and I can take away those privileges at anytime I want."

Towers nodded. "OK."

Gorman gave her a look. "You're supposed to say-"

"Yes, Sarge."

Gorman sighed. "Alright, Private, I'm not a 'sarge.' Gunnery sergeants are just called 'gunnys,' OK?"

"OK."

"'Yes'-"

"Yes, Gunny."

"Better. Look, this isn't boot camp, but I expect respect outta you and everyone else here, is that clear?"

"Yes."

Gorman felt a vein in his forehead throb, giving Towers a dirty look.

"Yes, Gunny. Are you always this tense?"

"Only when people are giving me a hard time. Go put your gear away. We'll get you fitted for armor tomorrow." Gorman watched Towers leave the room, and rubbed his face as Valen walked in. "I feel like she was just waiting to graduate to give her superiors a hard time."

Valen shook his head. "I heard that a DI quit because of her."

"And she wasn't removed?"

"No. They couldn't prove it was even her who did it. That's just a rumor."

"Well, she's not making me quit. I can handle her."

* * *

Gorman didn't see much of Towers as the day went on. He sent a message to Command that he had received his new Marine, leaving out everything in regards to her shoddy attitude. He wanted to give her a chance. Discipline would come eventually.

Valen sat on the edge of the desk, a cup of coffee in hand. "You do anything for Saint Paddy's Day? Just realized that's in a couple weeks."

"Usually, I go home. I make a stew, or corned beef, and then my wife and I put music on and dance the night away."

"Sounds romantic."

"We have more fun with that than we do for Valentine's Day. Pity I'll miss it this year. Already took time off for my birthday and then the funeral."

Valen gave Gorman a sympathetic look. "Well, you haven't gone over your days. I'm sure you could take a couple days off without too much of a hitch."

"If I do that, I'm just going to get conflicted with myself again. I've come so far in my career, and . . . even though I wish I could spend more time with my wife, I just . . . I can't let myself get dragged down . . ."

* * *

_May, 2123_

_To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman, Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA, Earth_

_From: Marshal Jethro Waits, New Holland Colony, LV-510_

_Subject: Micah_

_Hey, Em.  
_

_I got your message with the invitation for Micah's 21st birthday. He's practically a grown man. I don't see why you feel the need to invite the whole family for it.  
_

_I'm just saying that because I remember how much I wanted Mom to just leave me alone when I turned 18. I took you and we drove down to Boston for a couple nights. We had fun. I feel like it'd be better for Micah if you let him enjoy his birthday the way he wants. I know I would. If he wants the family over, fine. I'm not sure I'll make it. It's a three-week cryosleep from here to Earth. Besides, there's been a spree of incidents here, and the Marshals need every man they have. I've been wearing a gas mask for about a week now, to give you an idea of what's going on without divulging too much information.  
_

_Along with that, I don't have the drive to go home right now. Haven't in awhile. Trust me when I say I miss you, but . . . I'm not sure I need any distractions right now. Things have been going great for me. I'm happy. And I don't feel like getting into an argument with your husband again. I don't need anybody telling me I'm being neglectful anymore. I'm a little sick of that.  
_

_I just wish I could have the best of both worlds at times. I don't think that's possible. I'm going to choose what makes me happy, and successful. I don't feel either when I'm trapped in a room with your extended family. And it's not good for Micah. I don't want him to believe I'm a bad person, because I'm not. You know I'm not.  
_

_If you can find a day where it'd just be the three of us, I'll think about coming home for a few days.  
_

_Love,  
_

_Jethro._

* * *

_Question: Would Waits benefit from having a group of coworkers similar to the Sulaco Marines?_


	3. Chapter 3

_2175_

Valen left Gorman alone when he saw he was starting to break down. A feeling of loneliness had pierced through Gorman's chest with the intensity of someone with a knife.

_I have to focus on something else. It's the only way to keep this from getting worse. Come on, you go through this every time you come back from leave. _Gorman put his head in his hands, looking down at the desk. A teardrop silently splashed down on the wood. _Focus. You need to focus._

Gorman sighed, taking a tissue from the box on his desk and drying his face. He stepped out into the hall, drawing in a deep breath, not wanting to be flooded with any memories. Then again, that's a difficult thing to hold back. Memories were their own beings, it seemed, coming and going as they pleased. They could disappear for months, or even years. They could pop up when they weren't wanted. They could be there, all the time, taunting, and haunting.

When it came to love, things that most would consider simple and mundane became the most powerful of memories. First hugs and kisses. Smiling at each other in bed when they went to sleep, and waking up the next morning to smile at each other once more. Getting stuck in the rain, or traffic. Pushing each other down a grassy hill. Just being in each other's company, from dawn to dusk.

All pleasant memories. Tainted with a tinge of sadness.

Adjusting his uniform, he walked down to the gym, seeing and hearing Valen barking out orders and instructions. He noticed Private Wade assisting Towers on the bench, and was a little annoyed with the fact that Towers was listening to Wade rather than her own squad commander.

Entering the gym, Gorman observed each of his Marines, guiding some on their form and then walking away when they had it. He glanced at Valen, saying, "Sorry I exploded."

"No, no, it's alright, sir," Valen replied. "Think I should've been a bit more helpful, to be honest."

"It's fine. I just . . . need to keep my mind occupied."

"It's not a crime to miss a loved one."

"I know. There's nothing I can do about it, though. I know I can take time, off, though, but . . . I don't want to come back every time and feel . . . empty, or like I've made the wrong decision to go as far as I can in the Marines."

Valen grinned a little. "Well, it's not like you're the only Marine who's married. A lot of people have been married and kept their careers going." He glanced out at the gym, looking a tad distant. "Paulson was, and he had a happy marriage, plus a son. It's not about how much time you spend together physically. It's about patience and being able to understand each other and what makes each other happy."

Gorman nodded.

"And you're still technically a newlywed, so I can understand why you're anxious. I think you'll be OK, sir."

"Thanks. I appreciate the help."

"Anytime, sir."

Gorman noticed something from the corner of his eye, and then stood up, shouting, "Towers! You never bench press without a spotter! Where's Wade?!"

"Bathroom!" Towers called from the bench.

Growling under his breath, Gorman stormed over to the open door of the women's restroom. "Wade! Get out here, right now, young lady!"

Wade walked over from the sink, running her fingers through short blonde hair. "Yes, Gunny?"

"You left Towers alone on the bench press. I tell you people every fucking time we're in here that you never _ever_ leave your squadmate when you're doing something that requires a spotter! What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"She told me she'd wait-"

"And she wasn't waiting. You never take that chance. I'm disappointed in you." Gorman glared at Towers. "Both of you. You'll both be on trash duty for the next four days."

The rest of the hour of the gym was quiet, aside from Valen's instruction. As the Marines left, Gorman saw Towers looking at him, saying, "Hardass," before turning back to Wade.

Heart sinking, Gorman looked down at the floor. _Maybe I was a little hard on them._

* * *

_2135_

San Cristobal was the least-busy hospital Waits had ever seen. A winding maze of empty hallways. Having seen his fair share of horror movies set in hospitals, he felt this place fit the description a little too well.

The only good part was that he didn't have to wait very long to see someone. Of course, that someone was Lingard.

"'Morning, Marshal. Everything OK?" A look of concern came over Lingard's face. "Did you throw up again?"

"No. I have to get a new physical sheet. Same shit every time I get switched to a different place. Just, you know, take my height and weight and make sure I still have a pulse." Waits shrugged. "I will tell you ahead of time that you might not get accurate readings because I haven't eaten or slept much in two-three days."

"Did Hazelton say when he needs this sheet back?"

"No."

"I'll give you a quick look, and hang onto that paper while I call and say you need a day or so of bed-rest before doing a full examination. Come on down to my office."

The sheer emptiness of the hospital gave Waits the chills. He sat in Lingard's office, constantly glancing out into the dimly lit hallway until Lingard closed the door. "How long has it been so deserted?" he asked.

"Long time," Lingard replied. "Most of the residents are used to it, but they always say they never want to be in here at night. I tend to stay all night, just in case somebody needs me. I might sleep one night a week, but that's it. Take off your shoes and step on the scale."

"I don't need to drop my trousers, do I?"

"I won't make you if you don't want to."

"Well, good. I really don't need you seeing my junk."

It was hard for Lingard to not crack a smile. She jotted down Waits's height and weight, before gesturing for him to step off the scale and sit on an examination table. She listened to his heart and lungs, and felt the length of his spine, as well as his ribcage and belly for any palpable abnormalities. "So far, so good," she said. "No feelings of pain or pressure anywhere?"

"No."

Lingard shined a penlight in Waits's eyes, before holding his jaw open to shine the same light down his throat. "No redness, no swelling . . . good." She pulled the light from his mouth. "I won't do any blood or urine tests just yet. I'll give you some vitamin supplements, and send a message to Hazelton. Best advice for you is to get three meals in you and a full night's sleep."

"Whatever you say, Doc." Waits got off the table, putting his jacket back on. "Um . . . are you busy?"

"Not at the moment. Why?"

"Well . . . maybe . . . maybe you could join me for coffee?" _Did that just come outta my mouth?_

"I suppose. Wouldn't hurt."

"Hey, you've been nice to me the last day-and-a-half. Least I could do to repay you."

"I . . . just remembered I have a patient to tend to. I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow." Lingard quickly took a clipboard from her desk, which Waits had noticed was devoid of any papers.

_Maybe I should've worded myself differently. I must've said something to upset her. _Not bothering to question her about it, Waits left San Cristobal. _I don't feel like going through this creepy maze anyways._

* * *

The rest of the day dragged. Hazelton didn't seem fond of Lingard giving Waits a day pass without consulting him about it. In fact, when Waits returned to San Cristobal to see if Lingard was back in her office, all he found was a message from Hazelton.

"_Sevastopol already runs as slow as it does, Doctor. Unless you found something drastically wrong with Waits, I don't want to hear any petty excuses for bed-rest and vitamins. Someone could suddenly resign tomorrow, so I need all the Marshals I have. If he's still complaining about post-cryo sickness, then maybe he should just go home, or get a softer post. I'm not going to put up with anyone shirking their duties for miniscule aches and pains. Command probably made a big mistake with this one. Maybe I should contact them and have them swap out Waits for a basic training graduate. This is ridiculous. I want those physical papers filled out by this evening. Hazelton out._"

Waits had felt diminished before. Usually from family, but never from a coworker. _This shouldn't bother me. I guess the only reason it does is because I don't know how long I'm going to be here. _He turned to leave the room, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. He paused upon seeing Lingard in the hallway.

"Oh, good, I found you. Been looking all over for you." She gestured for him to go back inside the room. "What exactly were you doing in my office?"

"Looking for you, actually," Waits replied. "I . . . Y-You forgot to give me the vitamins."

"We're not going to bother with the vitamins. Hazelton wants that physical sheet by tonight, so . . . I'm just going to do those tests now."

"I told you this morning, I-"

"We don't have time. I'm sorry."

Arguing seemed pointless. Waits took off his jacket. "Alright. Take blood, and give me the cup. Just don't make me piss in front of you."

"You can give me a sample in the restroom. You can do it in the hallway, I don't care. Just give me a sample."

Waits stood still, glancing up at the ceiling while Lingard took a blood sample. He was tempted to ask why she seemed so flustered. Was it just because of Hazelton, or did it have something to do with her running out on him after he made a simple offer of coffee? Whichever it was, he didn't feel like asking, lest he made her more upset.

After capping the blood samples, Lingard handed Waits an empty plastic cup. "You don't need to fill it all the way."

"Got it." Grabbing his jacket and the cup, Waits headed out into the hallway toward a restroom. A second later, everything went black.

* * *

_2175_

The bathroom was extremely humid after Gorman got out of a hot shower. A towel wrapped around his waist, he stepped in front of the sink, opening the medicine cabinet to take out the shaving cream and razor. Beads of water dripped down his face as he applied a layer of the cream to his face.

As he placed the razor to his cheek, someone knocked on the door. "Busy!" Gorman called.

The knocking continued. "I'm here for garbage!" Towers yelled.

"Wait just a minute!"

More knocking.

Gorman took a breath. _Just ignore her._

The door opened. Gorman whirled around to see Towers taking the small garbage can from next to the toilet. "You are not allowed to just walk into my private quarters!" Gorman shouted.

"You wanted me to take care of the garbage," Towers said. She looked him up and down, thoroughly embarrassing Gorman. "Nice abs, by the way." She walked out of the room with the trash can. A minute later, after dumping its contents in the large rolling bin out in the hall, she returned the can, and closed the bathroom door as she went.

After finishing his shave, Gorman rinsed the razor and threw water on his face before applying aftershave gel. Smooth, and smelled nice. It was a scent Lydia liked in particular; she claimed she could kiss him for hours after he had freshly shaved.

Their nighttime routine usually depended on the season. In the summer, they would sit out on the steps of their home and watch the city's night life awaken with glasses of icy lemonade and bowls of ice cream. Their two cats would watch from a windowsill. In the winter, they cuddled together on the couch with homemade treats and rich, creamy hot chocolate, before snuggling as close as they could in bed. The cats, too, would attempt to burrow in with them.

Pixie was a playful Russian Blue, and very much belonged to Lydia, as she had her since she was a kitten a few years before meeting Gorman. Her spot on the bed was above Lydia's head on the pillow. On the other hand was Bomber, named because he was found in the bay of a massive bomber plane on a base Gorman was stationed at. How the little black kitten ended up there, no one knows, but Gorman found him and promptly took him in. Nowadays, Bomber's preferred sleeping spot was curled up against Gorman's chest.

Crazy as it sounded, Gorman missed finding gray and black cat hair on every surface.

Sighing as the memories flooded him, Gorman leaned down to get his clothes-

_I left my nightclothes on the bathmat. Where'd they go? _The floor was devoid of clothes, and Gorman knew he had left them there when he got in.

Keeping the towel around his waist, Gorman opened the bathroom door, wondering if he had just forgot to grab new clothes and thought he did just because this was a routine heavily engrained in his mind. Before he could head into his bedroom, he was struck in the face with his own pants, and heard someone run down the hall. Gorman bit his tongue, a feeling of annoyance starting to swell in his chest. _I don't know who did that, but that wasn't funny._

The rest of his clothes had been left on the floor in front of him. Gorman kept glaring down the hall until he had closed the bathroom door behind him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Towers, and possibly Wade, was possibly messing with him, but at the same time, he doubted it. Towers was undisciplined for sure, but he didn't think she'd go that far.

He hoped.

* * *

As his dreams faded back into the recesses of his mind the next morning, Gorman refused to take off his nightclothes until he was certain his uniform hadn't disappeared on him at some point during the night. Luckily, everything was still there.

He opened the door while putting on his wedding band, seeing Valen banging on everyone's doors and shouting for them to wake up. One by one, still-sleepy Marines emerged, tucking in their shirts and buttoning their BDU blouses. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!" Gorman called. "Come on, march on down to the mess hall. Let's go, a little faster here. You'll wake up soon enough-Maxie, did you get your zipper stuck on your belt again?"

"No, the buckle pinched me." The young medtech jogged up to join the rest of his unit.

The Marines grabbed their trays and waited to be served, while some got up to get drinks. There was coffee, but not good coffee. Gorman slunk off to his office to get his own from the small coffeemaker he had put in when his unit was moved to that base. A part of him felt guilty for not having enough to give the others, but he also didn't want everyone barging into his office whenever they wanted.

He set his cup on the table before getting at the back of the line to receive the same shit everyone else was getting-powdered eggs, dry toast, and a sorry-looking piece of turkey bacon. The toast was already cold, and so was the butter. Most everyone had a difficult time hacking at the stick to get a small piece for their toast. At least it provided some flavor.

"Like biting into a dry sponge," Maxie said with his mouth full.

"How would you know what a dry sponge tastes like?" Private Dunewall asked, earning some snickers from the others.

"I can say, as the medic, that you all shit fine. We don't need anymore of this Goddamn whole-wheat fiber stuff. It's terrible for morale."

"I've sent a complaint several times," Gorman said. "Haven't heard back." He took a sip of his coffee, then abruptly spit it out onto the table. A salty flavor had filled his mouth. "What the hell . . . ?"

"Is . . . everything alright, sir?" Valen asked.

"There's salt in my coffee. Someone put fucking salt in my coffee. I know damn well it didn't taste like that when I got it five minutes ago."

"Maybe it's just you being salty yourself," Towers said.

Gorman glared at her. "I really don't need any bullshit outta you."

"You're just proving my point, Gunny."

"Alright. Backtalk. You can stay behind and clean up everyone's trays when we're done. One more word outta you and I'll have you scrubbing the bathrooms with no gloves."

"Yeah. His coffee's been ruined, so don't give him a hard time," Wade whispered.

"I know." Towers leaned in to whisper something much quieter to Wade, and she smirked.

Gorman continued to glare at them. "Both of you are going to separate. Maxie, sit between them."

Maxie looked terrified. "Me? Wade put a bloody French fry in my ear once! God only knows what this one'll do!" He jerked his thumb in Towers's direction.

"Fine! Dunewall, sit between them."

"Yes, sir." Dunewall stood up, taking his tray.

"No more pranks or shenanigans from you people. I don't know who did it, but my clothes disappeared from my bathroom last night-"

Towers struggled to hide a laugh.

Gorman drew in a breath. "-and then my pants were thrown at me-" His eyes narrowed to gray slits as Towers covered her face, laughing. "Like I said, I don't know who did it, but I don't care. I want it to stop, right now."

Under most circumstances, such an order would have been followed. Not today.

* * *

_2135_

What little remained of Sevastopol's medical staff had sprinted from their posts when they heard the heavy _thud_ of Waits passing out on the floor. Lingard was already kneeling next to him. "Stay calm! No need to panic. Can somebody help me get him on a bed?"

"Shit, what happened?" Dr. Morley skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees.

"He just had a blood sample taken. He hasn't slept or had sufficient food in over two days."

"Well, that's a recipe for disaster right there. Why the hell would you take a blood sample if you knew he was in a weak state?"

"Marshal Hazelton wants his physical papers finished before tonight! You know you can't argue with him!"

"You can when we have _evidence_ this man needs to be taken off duty until he gets better!"

"Then I guess this is our evidence! I did what I could!"

"Alright, alright! Let's get him off the floor and in a room. He should come around soon. Take his shoulders. One . . . two . . . three, lift!"

The two doctors set Waits on a gurney before jogging down to an empty room, which wasn't hard to find. He was indeed starting to regain consciousness. His vision was blurred and his senses were taking their time with waking back up, until feeling the slight pinch of Lingard putting the IV drip needle into his arm. "Ouch, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"Don't move. That's all I ask." Lingard glanced at him. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just fell flat on my face."

"You kinda did. Blacked out as soon as you left my office." She sighed. "I shouldn't have taken blood from you. I'm so sorry."

"You were doing your job." Waits tried to sit up. "Got nothing to be sorry for."

Lingard looked over her shoulder. Morley was talking to someone out in the hall. "I let myself get scared. I shouldn't have done that."

"Doc, you don't need to beat yourself up over this. What're you scared of? Hazelton?"

"I can't . . . Just rest, Marshal."

"Hey, there's no need to be scared around me. What's going on? You can talk-"

"I should get you some food and water." Lingard stood up, leaving the room.

Waits would've followed her if the IV wasn't in his arm. He stared up at the ceiling, giving an annoyed sigh.

* * *

_Question: How might Gorman and Waits work together if they had known each other?_


	4. Chapter 4

_2175_

Gorman's nightmare had only just begun. He quickly found out that his order of no more pranks was smashed to bits. During lunch, one of the juice dispensers wasn't working. Gorman opened up the back to see what was wrong, and after moving the obstruction, he was promptly sprayed with cranberry juice.

_That was a coincidence. It was just a fucking coincidence._ Gorman angrily took a paper towel from Maxie, wiping the juice from his face.

Among the worst that happened was that night, when Gorman quickly realized his toothpaste had been replaced with mayonnaise. Infuriated, he made sure every door in his quarters was locked before going to sleep.

The locks didn't stop the prankster; Gorman awoke the next morning to find a beeping alarm clock taped to the ceiling, a windup mouse running around a drawer that used to contain his undershirts . . . which had been dumped on the floor, and "SGT. HARDASS" written in lipstick on his bathroom mirror.

He was speechless. A part of him wanted to have Towers transferred, but who knows what type of squad commander she would go to? She could very well get thrown out of the Marines, though a part of Gorman wondered if that was the best choice. _She's only been here two days . . . As long as no one's getting hurt, she'll stay._

He put his uniform on, and folded his shirts to put them back in the drawer. He definitely wasn't giving that windup mouse back to Towers. _The cats would really like it, that's for sure. _On his way to the mess hall, he paused in his office to grab his coffee, and kept a close eye on it while getting his breakfast. The coffee hadn't been touched, but something else sure had.

"How's everyone doing this-" Gorman was interrupted as he sat down on something that made a particularly loud and vulgar sound. His face flushed red when every Marine at the table turned to look at him, and he stood up to reveal the pink whoopee cushion on his seat. "Oh, for the love of God . . ." He held up the cushion, and looked at Towers. "Really?"

She shrugged.

Gorman sighed. _I think I need a new approach with her._ "Towers, I want to see you in my office after breakfast. We're going to have a little talk."

* * *

_2135_

A little girl with pigtails was running and screaming as she tore down the hallway from Sevastopol's daycare. She was a fast little snot, especially when she realized Waits was trying to catch her. A pair of engineers peered out from a maintenance room when they heard the commotion. First, the little girl ran by, screeching. Then Waits barreled past.

The girl rounded a corner to a main hallway leading down to the Spaceflight Terminal. She stopped once to see if Waits was still chasing her, and immediately turned tail to keep running when he skidded around the corner.

"Get back here, you little brat!" Waits snarled. He yanked his radio from his belt. "Ricardo, I need assistance at the habitation towers, heading toward the Spaceflight Terminal. Got an escapee from the fucking daycare!"

"Are you chasing them?" Ricardo asked.

"Yes! Hurry up before she gets to the terminals!"

"Waits, you can't chase them. Then they just keep running."

"I'm in no mood to play peekaboo!"

The hall had opened to a much larger space, active with people. Some paused to stare at the screaming girl running through. Then Waits noticed someone reaching to grab the girl.

He could see the blood draining from the man's face right before colliding into him and tackling him to the ground. Waits raised his baton, and lowered it when he realized the man was too stunned to move. "Nice try," Waits hissed, hoisting his suspect up and holding his hands behind his back. "Change of plans, Ricardo," he said into the radio. "Some piece of shit tried grabbing the brat. I've got him. You take him back to the cells. I'll take care of the brat."

"On my way, Waits," Ricardo replied.

The little girl had watched the whole show, and didn't move when Waits approached her.

"Have we learned our lesson on why we don't run from the daycare screaming like a little fucking banshee?" Waits crouched in front of her, giving her a dirty look.

Much to his surprise, she nodded, her lower lip quivering.

"That could've ended badly if I wasn't right there. You might've never seen your mommy and daddy again."

She nodded again.

"So, lesson learned. Come here, I'll take you back." Waits stood up, expecting the little girl to just follow him. She kept trying to take his hand, and she gave him a sad look every time he pulled it away. Eventually, he sighed. "Alright, you want a ride?"

Another nod.

"Fine." Waits picked her up, letting her wrap her arms around his neck. "Don't even think about wiping your nose on my coat. That's all I ask of you."

He walked all the way back down to the daycare, and shifted the little girl into his arms to hand her off to the woman in charge of the facility. "Here's your brat back. Listen, you need to start padlocking this door. I'm not dealing with escapees every single day. I really don't give a crap why they're escaping, just keep them from getting out. There's more important shit for me to be dealing with." Waits gestured to the girl. "She was almost kidnapped by somebody. If that's not a reason for you to better secure this place, I don't know what is. Get to it, and that's an order." He turned to leave, but then felt someone tugging his pants. Looking down, he saw the little girl. "What do you want?"

"Thank you, mister," she said. "Do you have lollipops?"

"No, I don't have lollipops. Do I look like a candy machine to you? Go play with the other kids."

The little girl waved to him as he left.

Waits sighed, noticing her from the corner of his eye as he walked away. He headed back to the Marshal Bureau, to being the paperwork detailing this little incident.

As soon as he entered the Bureau, one of the other Marshals started laughing. "Any particular reason for swearing around the little ones, Waits? You know you can get in trouble for that."

"Oh, boo-hoo, I dropped an F-bomb in front of a five-year-old. My father cussed in front of me all the time when I was a kid." Waits rolled his eyes.

"You mean you weren't demon-spawn like some of the guys on LV-510 say you are?"

Waits glared at his companion, biting back a retort that would've consisted of much more fouler language than he had used in front of the little girl.

Picking up a folder, Hazelton left his desk, and thrust the folder into Waits's hands. "Complete your report before six tonight if you don't want to be written up for swearing in front of a child. I really don't want to be wasting my time with petty garbage like that. But, if you do it again, you're getting fined, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Waits dropped the folder on his desk before heading to the coffeemaker.

In the two weeks that had passed since getting his physical papers finally completed, Waits had been given many of the more menial tasks around the station. Patrolling, checking out suspected individuals, chasing down thieves (and escaped children). Nothing new in Waits's book.

Off-duty, Waits kept to himself. It wasn't hard to see he didn't make friends easily, but it was oftentimes difficult to tell if he liked it that way, or was really lonely deep inside.

At least, it was difficult for everyone else. Waits knew he was lonely, and had been for years. He expressed it a few times to his sister, but as time went on, he found it harder and harder to express. _Because at my age, I should have friends already, right?_

Some could say he brought this life on himself, but Waits wasn't sure. He knew he could difficult to deal with, but he also knew that some people just wouldn't give him any chances, which, in turn, had made him a bit more difficult. It was a constant and vicious cycle, and at that point, he didn't care what had caused it, whether it was him or those around him. It was there and always would be until someone came along to break it.

He stayed behind to finish his report while the others took their lunch breaks. Having filled out hundreds of these reports before, it was a smooth and almost automatic process. In the past, he had a lot of respect for his superiors. Hazelton was different. How desperate was Sevastopol if they were willing to hire someone who looked like he had only graduated basic five years ago to be in charge of the entire Marshal Bureau?

Now that he thought about it, probably not desperate at all. It was possible the station would close within the next five years, possibly less. Waits imagined he would have to be there for that. Assignment lengths varied, depending on a slew of factors. Seniority, condition of the colony, condition of the colony's Marshal staff, war. Anything, really. And he had seen it all.

Waits left the Bureau after placing the report on Hazelton's desk. The others were probably on their way back up, and he left a message saying he was taking his own lunch break so Hazelton didn't harass him on where he was for the next hour or so.

He hadn't seen Lingard in awhile. Not since his physical was completed two weeks ago. Her quickly leaving the room after he made a simple offer of coffee was still in the back of his mind. Her mannerisms as a whole were still in the back of his mind. It just seemed like she was trying to hide something from him, but what? More importantly, why? It made no sense to him.

Waits saw her at a distance when he approached the food court. The noon rush had ended. He didn't have to wait long to get something to eat, and go over to Lingard to ask if he could join her.

"I'm not staying very long," she replied.

"Doesn't really answer my question," Waits said.

She sighed. "You can sit, but don't expect any lengthy conversation."

"Actually, I . . . kinda wanted to ask about that. You know, maybe . . . maybe we can set aside some time to have a lengthy conversation."

Lingard didn't respond right away. Gently, Waits touched her arm.

"Can I at least ask you to not run away again? I don't know what I said to upset you, or . . . however I fucked up, I'm so sorry."

"Just tell me what you want, Waits. Drugs, money, information on people. Whatever you want."

"I don't want any of that. Honestly, Doc, what's going on?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

A little confused, Waits shrugged. "All I wanted to do was go for coffee and talk. Not . . . solicit you for stuff."

"Again, how do I-"

"I don't know what you want me to say. If you don't trust me for whatever reason, fine. I'll stop talking to you unless I need a puke bag or someone's got my baton shoved up their ass." Waits stood up. "And people wonder why I don't bother socializing."

Lingard watched Waits dump his tray before leaving the food court. He didn't see her open her mouth to say something, before hesitating and stopping herself.

Waits was undoubtedly frustrated, but he couldn't show it. Not to anyone. He kept his head down while heading back to the Marshal Bureau, struggling to control his expression. Looking at himself in the glass covering a Seegson poster in the elevator, he swallowed hard, and let his face relax in a neutral expression.

The others were on-duty, probably patrolling assignments. Even Hazelton was out doing something. Out of boredom, Waits dug up the passcode for the armory. He figured cleaning and checking his revolver would be enough to pass the time.

Upon opening the armory, he was appalled. "This is it?"

There were a few shotguns racked. Next to them were more revolvers like his. That was indeed it. Giving a heavy sigh, Waits rubbed his face. "Who in God's name said this was OK?" he muttered. No Bureau he had ever been stationed at was this weakly armed. Even smaller colonies at least had a few AUGs, pulse rifles, and P90s on hand. Sevastopol didn't even have semiauto rifles or handguns. A single squad of Marines had better firepower than Sevastopol. A pair of dropship pilots had better firepower than Sevastopol!

_If things ever go to shit, I'd have to improvise. _Waits sat on a bench, taking his revolver from his belt. No matter how much he didn't like Hazelton, he was going to bring this up when he next saw him.

No one had returned to the Bureau when Waits emerged from the armory. He sat back at his desk, and frowned upon seeing he had a new message in the inbox marked "personal" on his computer.

"_Waits, come meet me by the door of the maintenance tunnel at the transit stop near the hospital. Tonight. Don't tell anyone. - L._"

* * *

_2175_

"Alright, if you touch anything on my desk, I will call the MPs to handcuff you," Gorman said, sitting across from Towers. She had been playing with some of the trinkets on his desk, and then set them all down in places they weren't before.

Gorman resisted the urge to sigh as he set his things up back where he had them. "Let's talk about the last two days, but, first, I'm going to lay down some rules-don't roll your eyes at me. Now, I'm not going to be a 'hardass,' and you are not going to be a pain-in-the-ass. Agreed?"

Towers shrugged.

Gorman sighed. "All I want to do is ask . . . why you're doing this. Why are you giving me backtalk, and tormenting me with all these pranks?"

"Well, for one thing, it's fun. Second, Wade was crying after you yelled at her in the gym for just using the restroom. After comforting her, I decided to get some revenge for her, because you really went overboard with that."

"When we're done, I will apologize to her. Now, can you stop with the pranks? This is a military base, not a high school."

"I promise, I won't do anything that could get me arrested."

"Much of what you've already done could get you arrested. You're lucky I'm willing to give you a second chance."

"OK."

"Are you going to keep this up?"

"I can't tell you."

"You will stop with the pranks. And-"

"'That's an order.' I know, Gunny."

Gorman bit his lip. He sighed. "Please, don't interrupt me when I'm talking to you."

Something about that struck a nerve with Towers. She gave Gorman a dirty look. "You're not my father."

"And I never said I was. Stop with the pranks. Stop giving me attitude. That's. An. _Order_. I'm not going to repeat myself with this, or else I'm shipping you to another unit where their sergeant won't be as kind as I'm being right now."

"Jesus, you sound _exactly_ like my father!"

"I'm beyond giving a shit right now! I will drag you down to the brig myself if you don't shape up! You will be confined to quarters for the rest of the day, unless I call you somewhere. There is absolutely no place for this level of disobedience and disrespect in my unit. Get up. Stop touching my desk ornaments. Go on down to your quarters."

* * *

Gorman didn't bother apologizing to Wade afterward. _She and Towers both did something potentially dangerous in the gym. I really shouldn't have to apologize for disciplining them._

He let Towers free just before dinner, and he was a little surprised with her silence. Maybe he had finally gotten through to her.

"Perhaps what you need to do is not give her the reaction she wants," Valen suggested that evening.

"I feel like she'll just keep doing it until she does get that reaction. She strikes me as extremely determined," Gorman replied.

"She'd give up eventually once she sees you're not reacting the way she wants-or at least thinks you will. I've had to do that with my daughter."

Gorman was quiet for a moment, looking over the trinkets on his desk. "She told me I sounded like her father. I noticed that . . . made her upset."

"Open her folder. Who does she have as her next of kin?"

"An aunt."

A sad look came over Valen's face. "Probably doesn't have the greatest relationship with her parents, I think. I wouldn't assume anything, but . . . this might be something you should talk about with her. I've known many Marines who enlisted to get away from home. Sometimes, we're the closest thing they have to family, and we want to make them feel like they belong somewhere."

"I feel like I've already damaged any relationship I could've had with her, if . . . if this is the case."

"I think you can salvage it. Like I said, try not to react to what she does, and try to talk to her, not as her superior, but as a friend, a fellow Marine. Not right away, though. Leave her alone for a few days."

Gorman nodded. "Do you think I've been hard on her?"

"On Towers? Not necessarily. You were a private once. You can remember being disciplined for stupid things, right?"

"Never on the level of stupid she's doing. Well . . ." Gorman paused, "I did once crawl in the vent above Sergeant Clark's office with a tape recorder full of classic Irish insults. He nearly tore apart the office looking for that thing. I really deserved running around the base track until I puked for that." He grinned a little. "Stupid PFC days."

"So, you do have an idea of where Towers is coming from."

"A little, but that was the only real prank I ever pulled, and I learned my lesson after vomiting in the grass. Never did anything like that again."

"I think, when you get the chance, you should tell Towers that story. It might earn her respect for you."

Another nod. "Honestly, that's a good idea."

"Thanks." Valen glanced at a clock. "I'm off to shower and make sure everyone's behaving themselves in the lounge. Have a good night, Gorman."

"You, too." Gorman figured he would do the same, but, out of fear, he had to thoroughly inspect his quarters for any pranks or traps. Afterward, he locked the door, not wanting anyone to get in while he was showering.

He was grateful no one sabotaged anything when he stepped out of the bathroom, and breathed a sigh of relief as he tied the waistband of his bathrobe. Without a second thought, he left the bedroom and headed down to the communication room.

Keying in the code to contact Lydia, he sat in front of a screen, heart pounding. He was excited to talk to her, see her even though they were hundreds of miles apart. He rested his head on his arms as he waited for the signals to connect.

When he got the confirmation onscreen, Gorman lifted his head, smiling when he saw his wife's face. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi, Scott," Lydia replied. "One second-" She leaned down, and reappeared holding two cats, one gray and one black. "Say 'hi' to Daddy!" She kissed both cats on the head.

Gorman smirked. "How've they been doing?"

"Healthy. They miss you. A lot."

"I miss them, too. And you just as much. How are you?"

"Good. I won't get word on that promotion till tomorrow."

"I certainly hope you get it. No, I know you'll get it."

"Did you get a new Marine for your unit?"

"Yes, and . . . she is a handful. Quite the handful. Not very disciplined, and really loves her pranks. I've been her primary target, unfortunately."

"Oh, no. Are you OK?"

"For the most part, yes. I've had my clothes disappear, windup mice in my drawers, lipstick writing on my mirror, salt in my coffee, and those cushions that make fart sounds on my seat."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"There's a lot I can do, but . . . you know me. I'm going to give her a second chance, talk to her about what's going on. Hopefully, things will get better."

"You do have a remarkable ability to connect with people, even though you're a bit shy."

"_I'm_ a bit shy? Who didn't leave my side when we were invited to the Colonial Marine Corps Ball last year?"

Lydia smiled. "OK, fine. We're both shy."

"I think what you did last year can be classed as a four-hour hug, and . . . I really wouldn't mind being hugged for four hours again."

"We'll do that when we see each other next. I promise."

"I will hold you to that promise." A light and airy feeling encompassed Gorman's chest. "I love you so much, darling."

"I love you, too, Scott."

* * *

_Question: How do Gorman and Waits differ when it comes to dealing with loneliness?_


	5. Chapter 5

_2135_

Darkness fell over Sevastopol. Well, technically, it was always dark. The sun never rose or set. Darkness was usually in reference to the lights in public areas being turned off after a certain time, usually past eight.

Aside from the night workers, everyone seemed to disappear. No one wanted to be walking the corridors when the lights were out. The workers paid no attention to Waits as he passed by. They probably thought he was just patrolling, and that was fine by him. After all, he was told not to tell anyone where he was going or what he was doing.

When he arrived at the transit stop, he followed signs pointing toward the maintenance tunnel. It didn't take long to figure out why Lingard chose this place to meet; a sign had been bolted to the door of the tunnel, saying how the door was broken and that workers had to find another way in. The other ways were two other tunnel entrances-miles away.

The hall was silent. Waits watched a transit train rush by, nearly taking his cap off and ruffling his silver hair. He was far away from the platform, and the transit was going fast enough to where no one inside could see him, if they were even paying attention.

He glanced around while pacing. "OK, Lingard, I'm here. Where'd you go?"

He got no response, so he figured he was early, or perhaps Lingard backed out at the last minute. He decided to wait, sitting with his back against the wall. How long had it been since he sat down? He felt pressure he didn't even know he had suddenly relieve itself in his lower back. _And now I don't think I can get back up. Great._

As he shifted to get himself comfortable, he noticed a figure approaching in the corner of his eye, and turned to see Lingard in civilian clothing. "I thought you'd be here already," he said.

"Had a patient to deal with. Sorry. And my transit was running slow." Lingard sat next to him. "Alright, so . . . I really hope I don't regret this, but . . . I'm going to trust you. Can you . . . give me your word or something-anything-that you'll keep this between us?"

"Cross my heart. You have to promise I can trust you, too."

"Deal." Lingard held out her hand. Waits squeezed it before letting go. "OK. I think . . . I think you have an idea of how everything's falling apart around here, and how . . . we're pretty much waiting for the station to decommission."

"That much is obvious. What I wanted to ask is why you got so skittish and ran when all I asked is whether you wanted to go for coffee."

"Because I didn't know if that was what you really wanted. See . . . in all honesty, it's been years since anyone has talked to me like a person. They just see the senior medical officer, someone who has access to the most sensitive information about everyone on the station. At least, that's what Ransome sees. I think he's so bored here that he thoroughly enjoys tormenting people when he doesn't get his way in anything. He's asked me before to have documents on someone's health history. I think he claimed this person was a friend and he was doing a favor. I shouldn't have given him those papers, but . . . he threatened to drag my name through the mud if I didn't do it again. My name, my career, anything. So . . . I did it again, not because I wanted to, but because if I sacrificed my career, there'd be one less doctor, and people could start to suffer. I couldn't let that happen. Since then, I . . . give him what he wants and try to interact with him as little as possible."

"You were afraid I'd do the same thing."

Lingard nodded, eyes glistening with tears. "I haven't told anyone this before."

"Feels good to get it off your chest, doesn't it?"

She didn't respond.

Waits turned to face her, and sighed. "Do you need a hug?"

"Sure."

"Alright. Come 'ere." Waits opened his arms, letting Lingard hug him and cry in his shoulder. He put his arms around her, rubbing her back reassuringly, like he had done with his sister whenever she was upset and sought his comfort.

"I don't want to do this anymore, but I don't know what to do about it," Lingard sobbed. "He's got people everywhere listening. Even in the Marshal Bureau. I don't know if Hazelton's one of them."

"If that's the case, I'll need some time to think of a plan, OK? This doesn't sound like something we can do overnight. Do you have information we can use against him?"

"Other than my own personal testimony, no."

"We'll need everything in writing. Documents, messages, anything. Until then, we can't do much of anything."

"OK."

"We will do something. Trust me. Keep doing what you're doing. Don't let anyone think that something's changed. We don't need anyone getting suspicious. I know things have gone bad here, but I'd rather leave knowing I tried to fix it than go out a miserable mess like everyone else."

Lingard took a breath, her head still in Waits's shoulder. "Thank you, Waits."

"No problem. Just . . . I wish you told me sooner. All along, I thought it was my fault you ran off."

"No, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry for doing that to you." Lingard half-pulled away from Waits, looking him in the eye.

Silence fell over them, until a transit car flew by them. Waits's cap was blown askew. Lingard straightened it for him, prompting Waits to grab her jacket hood and yank it over her head.

"Hey!" Lingard flicked the brim of Waits's cap.

"Don't touch my hat."

"You, don't touch my hood."

That brought a slight grin to Waits's face, until Lingard roughly turned his cap.

* * *

They didn't stay there all night, although there was a part of Waits that would've been completely OK with that. It was a genuinely strange feeling. Strange, but good. Here was a human being who actually enjoyed his company.

Lingard was the one who brought up going for coffee the next morning, and Waits accepted. It had been years since he went out with a woman for anything, and he wasn't even thinking about dating Lingard.

No matter how much advice Esmeralda gave him, no matter how much advice some of his coworkers had given him, Waits had never held onto a girlfriend for more than a month. He had done everything from blind dates to hookups set up from another Marshal, even just meeting people in stores and bars. Nothing seemed to work. Every relationship crashed and burned in some manner or another.

Waits valued his job over companionship, even more so when his companionship couldn't respect that. His first relationship didn't even last a week when his date became . . . a bit too needy. Demanding to know why he never took her out, why he never called, never gave her gifts. He didn't dance around it, nor did he try to appease her by showering her with presents and attention. Out the door she went.

His next date was no better. She lectured him on his "workaholic" nature, and how it wasn't good for him to be alone. Out the door she went, too.

Waits eventually quit dating for a few years, then started again after a few incidents with his own family. He tried, over and over, to get along with Esmeralda's husband. Like with dating, nothing seemed to work. Ashton seemed convinced that Waits was bad for his nephew.

Maybe he shouldn't have argued with Ashton over who could go into Esmeralda's hospital room the day after Micah was born. The fact that Em could hear the two men yelling at each other out in the hall had pained Waits for the last thirty-three years, and that guilt wasn't letting up anytime soon. _I should have just accepted that I'm not important anymore._

He lost, and spent over an hour sitting in the hall, waiting until he was wanted in the room. He hated how Ashton watched him when Em let him hold the baby. That moment, which should've been sweet and tender, was forever tainted by the fact that his brother-in-law didn't trust him.

Waits knew this could be the last time Micah would see him for a few years. Everyone in the room knew that.

"Why bother coming if you're never going to be around anyway?" Ashton said.

"You can't let it go for one day, can you?" Esmeralda glared at him. "He's busy and he'll make time when he can."

Waits wouldn't make time for almost six years. Six years, and the arguing continued. It definitely didn't help that he was attending a birthday party for a six-year-old. It also didn't help that Micah didn't recognize him and didn't care.

The kids tore around the house, and Waits went outside with a beer bottle. He sat on the steps, taking off the cap with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. It was nice to see the sun painting everything a golden color as it prepared to set. He hadn't seen sunlight or trees or green grass in awhile. It was a calm moment, for once.

Then again, it's always calm before a storm starts.

Waits didn't go back inside until the noise quieted down, and he finished his smoke. He had missed Em cutting the cake for all the kids, prompting Ashton to break out the "you're never around" argument.

Em shielded the children when Waits threw his empty beer bottle at Ashton. The glass shattered against the wall when Ashton ducked, and Waits decided he wasn't minding his manners around the kids anymore; Em immediately took the kids out of the house when Waits started swearing, and left them with a neighbor while she went back inside to get in between her brother and husband before things got out of control.

He still wrote to Esmeralda. He was still updated on his nephew's life. He hated being literally distant, but he also didn't feel like quitting. Being a Marshal got him away from home, but the loneliness followed him wherever he went.

So he tried dating again. Like last time, he seemed to be involved with all the wrong people. Impatient. Needy. Selfish. Unwilling to listen to him. Often leaving him wondering what purpose he was serving. And so he gave up again.

He didn't seek out Lingard because he was interested in her romantically. If he ever felt anything, that would be a bonus. As of now, she was just a friend. She was nice to him, offered him help when he was still suffering from "post-cryo sickness." The night before, she trusted him with a horrible secret she'd been harboring for some time.

Doing so must've been hard for her; he figured it was only fair that he open up to her as well.

Waits sat across from Lingard at an empty table in the food court. She was probably going to run right to San Cristobal afterward, since she was dressed in a clean uniform. He could understand, since he had to go right to Marshal Bureau. Neither of them could stick around for too long.

"I don't know how you like your coffee, so I just got you a plain cup. Sorry." Waits gestured to a cup of black coffee.

"That's OK. Thanks for getting it for me."

"Yeah. Not sure what you want for breakfast, either, so, that's on you. Actually, no, here's twenty dollars. Give me the change, though."

"Thanks. I'll remember your change."

Waits half-expected Lingard to just keep the change, but when she returned, she placed his money next to his coffee cup. "Jesus Christ, you're the first woman to ever give me my fucking change when I give her a twenty to get something."

"I'm guessing you haven't had many positive experiences if you put it that way."

"Not in the last thirty-five years."

"Wow, that long and no luck?"

"I wish I was kidding. I have fairly rotten luck when it comes to dating."

"Guess the right person hasn't come along yet. I think it'll happen when you least expect it."

"I hope so. Kinda feels like it's . . . you know, a little late for me."

"You never know until that special someone comes along. I haven't tried in years, either."

"You're a doctor, you're busy. Don't have time for relationships and feelings and all that fun garbage."

"I imagine you're busy, too."

"Yeah. People have gotten mad at me for that."

"Same. Although . . . usually it's to create false sympathy for themselves. They hate the 'I'm busy' excuse."

"I never waste my time with people like that. Just show 'em out, and forget they ever existed. I've never found that difficult, usually because I don't . . . I have a hard time getting emotionally attached to people, and it's only gotten harder. That and . . . I used to drink. Well, I still drink, but not as much as I used to. I was able to get away with it because I was never on morning shifts, so no one would ever know I was hungover. I stopped when I did have a morning shift, and everybody saw me hungover. My superior at the time-old fella, passed away a couple years ago-took me aside when I was feeling better and said, 'You need to talk to somebody, Waits?' and after I told him that I misjudged how much I could handle and I went through a bad relationship, he said, 'I'm giving you a warning, because you're a good officer and this is your first time showing up hungover.' After that, I mostly quit. I still drink, but I won't . . . go until I'm facedown in my own vomit. Plus, I was stationed at a colony later on that didn't have any alcohol, period, so that kinda-sorta kept me from screwing myself up."

"I thought it was in the code of the Marshals not to drink."

"It's against the rules to be drunk on duty. They don't care how much you drink off-duty as long as you're not breaking the law while you're at it. Or showing up hungover. I only showed up hungover once, and I was lucky to have someone understanding to just give me a warning and let me go. I do care about my job. Probably more than I should, but I care enough to where I don't need outside help."

"Sevastopol lost a good chunk of our specialized therapists about a year ago. Now, all we have is Doctor Kuhlman. He did OK when he first arrived. Over the years, I think he's . . . starting to suffer a little himself and all he really does is give patients pills and doesn't actually work with them. There used to be a good system with all the people we had, and then they left."

"Can't imagine that was easy for you."

"The scary part is that it got easier. At the same, I deal with a much bigger workload than anyone in my position should be dealing with, but . . . I can't leave. I'd let so many people down."

"I get that."

"Really?"

"Sure. I mean, I became a Marshal because I wanted to leave home, but I know the core of my job is serving and protecting, and I'm good at it. To just quit would be . . . the worst dishonor I could do to myself and everyone I've ever worked with. I don't know what I'm going to do when Sevastopol closes, but, I know I can't really handle hypersleep very well anymore. I might just go to Gateway and stay until somebody orders me to retire."

"I can go wherever I want. Choosing where is . . . a bit of a challenge. I guess . . . Gateway doesn't sound bad. At least I'd have someone I know there."

Waits looked down at the table, not wanting anyone to see him blush. "It would be nice to not be . . . completely alone-again-when transferring. That, and you wouldn't have to worry about Ransome anymore. I don't think Seegson has offices in Gateway. Weyland-Yutani does, though. I think he'd prefer to mess around with their employees rather than people like you."

"He still might try to get their information through me, though."

"Not on Gateway. Gateway's controlled by the government, not Seegson. You'd be completely free to get help. Hell, you'd be able to get an investigation rolling if he doesn't die or disappear before Sevastopol closes." Waits glanced around, wary of the fact that Lingard had told him Ransome had people listening. "I know the Marshals are technically in charge here, but if you're right about Hazelton, then the only things that could take care of this mess would be a superior Marshal removing Hazelton, or another Seegson exec, or the Marines take over. The Marines would have full authority over everyone, even the Marshals. Ransome wouldn't be able to do a damn thing."

"And this isn't nearly enough to warrant calling the Marines."

"No. Not unless people are getting killed and the Marshals can't handle it. Trust me, that's a situation you don't want to be in. I've been in it . . . a few times."

They locked eyes for a moment, suddenly finding nothing to say. Lingard was the one to break eye contact, and look at the clock. "I better . . . finish up and head to the hospital."

"Yeah. Hazelton's probably wondering what the hell I'm doing." Waits stood up, and glanced at Lingard. "Maybe . . . we can do this again?"

"If you want."

"Do you not want to?"

"No. I mean, I would. I just don't know when. When would be good for you?"

"Soonest would be tonight if Hazelton doesn't give me any night shifts."

"I might stay late at the hospital just in case I'm needed. I didn't last night, and . . . I should."

"OK. Whatever . . . Whatever works for you. Have a good day and take care of yourself, alright?"

"You, too."

Waits set his coffee down, and opened his arms for a brief hug from her, but saw she was already leaving the food court.

* * *

_2175_

Gorman spotted Towers sitting by herself in the courtyard. She had a large book in hand, a scrapbook or album of some kind. Taking a breath, Gorman stepped outside, hoping he didn't scare Towers off. "Hey," he said.

"What?" Towers looked up at him, then went back to her book. Gorman could see it was empty.

"Just came to check on you," Gorman replied. "I noticed you left the gym instead of hanging back and talking to Wade."

"Didn't feel like talking to anyone," Towers muttered. "Especially not you."

Gorman sat near her. "In all honesty, I haven't . . . been the best squad commander the last few days, and I'm sorry. I told myself that when I got to this position, I'd be . . . I'd be not only a good commander, but I'd also be, you know, a friend. I think we'll function better as a unit if we can have good relationships with each other."

"You're not gonna tell me off and keep punishing me?"

"At the moment, no. I actually came to tell you a story from when I was a private. I think you'll like it, and maybe you'll . . . feel a bit more willing to listen to me when you hear it. See . . . I was a little mischievous, but not nearly as much as you. After graduating Vent Rat training-"

"Wait, _you're_ a Vent Rat?"

Gorman nodded.

"God, you're so stiff I'm surprised you can crawl in a vent."

"Anyway, I graduated training, was assigned to my first unit, and things got boring very, very fast. My sergeant was a fairly easygoing guy. Gave us some freedom but knew how to be a leader. I went out to the city and found a cassette tape full of Irish humor. Quotes, insults, you name it. I listened to it and thought, 'What if I hide this in Clark's office, and play it?' I knew there was no way I could actually put it in his office, so I put it in the wall. Crawled up in the vents, found the shaft leading to Clark's office, and set the player by the vent cover."

A small grin formed on Towers's face. "Was he pissed?"

"He almost tore up the wall when he realized the voice was coming from the vent. He was immensely pissed when he found out it was me who did this, and made me run laps around the track until I threw up."

"And you actually did this?"

"Yes. I learned my lesson after the run, because I didn't want to do that ever again."

"You're not going to do that to me, are you?"

Gorman shook his head. "No, I won't. I promise. Unless you really drive me up the wall. Then I might have to. For now, I won't."

"Ah. 'For now.'" Towers smirked.

Things fell silent, then Gorman turned to face Towers again. "I should also apologize . . . for sounding like your father."

Towers looked down at her blank book. "You don't have to apologize for that. You're not my dad. You don't even _look_ like my dad. My dad wouldn't even take the time to talk and apologize like what you're doing. You're already a thousand times better than any drill instructor is."

Gorman thought for a moment. "I'm going to guess you feel like people don't listen to you."

"Did you grow up in a house with six siblings?"

"No."

"It's not as tight-knit as people think big families are. It sucked. Everyone's always yelling and nobody's problems get heard. The youngest just happened to crap his diaper every time I had a chance to just talk to Mom. Messing up was the only way to get anyone's attention. Achievements? Who the fuck cares? Oldest sister got into the college she wanted? Great. Nothing else was said. She left without so much as a goodbye. Other brother led the high school football team to the state championship and won? Great. Nothing else was said. Me enlisting? Just a goodbye. Nothing else."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Gorman said. "I guess . . . that's why you were deliberately fucking up in front of me, because that's the only way you knew how to get any individual attention."

"Little bit. Like I told you before, a part of me really enjoys it."

"You did mention that, and I think I understand you a bit better now. Of course, I won't lay my final judgement on you until I see you in combat. I certainly hope you don't . . . act like this in the field."

"No. I think the only reason they kept me in boot camp was because I performed so well on the field tests. It shocked everyone."

"Good. Now, I'm giving you a second chance, OK? I don't want anymore backtalk. Can you do that for me?"

Much to Gorman's surprise, Towers nodded.

"Alright. That's . . . really all I wanted to discuss with you. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about with me?"

"Not really." Towers glanced down at her book, then back up at Gorman as he stood up. "Hey, Gunny?"

"Yeah?" Gorman looked over his shoulder.

"Thanks for listening. Guess you're not as much of a hardass as I thought you were."

Gorman smirked. "No problem."

* * *

The only thing that really changed was Towers's attitude toward Gorman in front of the other Marines, which was definitely a shock to some. The pranks, however, stayed.

Gorman awoke the next morning to find Towers had drawn a heart on his mirror with his shaving cream, and under it were the words "Sgt. Hardass," followed by a winking smiley face. He sighed, a little unsure of how to feel at first, but he figured this was harmless enough to not mention. At breakfast, all he did was give Towers a look, and no words were said.

* * *

_Question: Based on what is presented in this story, what would have been a better way for Amanda Ripley to work with Waits in the events of the game?_


	6. Chapter 6

_2135_

Waits stood in an elevator with five other people, and a Working Joe android. He was in the back, watching everyone's individual movements. The air was strong with the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke. One of the men turned to the guy standing next to him, saying, "Taking my wife out tonight for the first time in awhile."

"Nice, Hughes," his companion said. "Where're you going? I think there's only three restaurants left on the station."

"We're going to the fancy little place inside the mall."

"I heard they'll be closing soon. Don't know how long. I think the owner said he's giving it another six months to a year. If he can't keep up with expenses, he's packing up and heading to Gateway. Lots of space and a good spot for business."

"That's a shame. It's a cute place." Hughes put his hands in his pockets.

The elevator stopped. A few people, including Waits, got off. He didn't feel a hundred percent prepared to question Hazelton about the state of the armory, but it was something that had to be done. After swiping his card to get into the Bureau, he caught several of the other Marshals glancing at him. Sighing, he walked over to Hazelton's desk. "Sir, mind if I talk to you for a minute about something important?"

Hazelton look up, setting his coffee down. "Is it actually important or is it just important to you?"

Waits took a breath. "It's actually important."

"Alright, shoot."

"Why's the armory practically empty? I went in yesterday to clean my revolver, and all I see in there are more revolvers and shotguns. No armory I've ever been in has just that. Every armory has at least one full-auto weapon for each Marshal. This is completely against regulation what we have here."

"It's been like that since before I came here," Hazelton replied.

"And why didn't you fix it?"

"Didn't think it was necessary. Nothing is broken. Every gun in there works-"

"It's against regulation!"

"Well, I'll let the higher-ups decide that. I'm not messing around with it." Something started flashing on Hazelton's desk. He pressed a button. "Marshal Bureau."

"Hazelton," a male voice on the other line said, "it's Seegson Security. Civvie ship just docked. All the passengers are in quarantine right now. We've got their luggage, but there's something wrong here. Some kind of toxic gas leaking from one of the bags."

"Hold tight, we'll be right there," Hazelton replied.

"Do we have any CBRN gear?" Waits asked.

"No. Before you say anything, there wasn't any when I was put in charge here."

"Then why didn't you order any?!"

"Never saw the need! We have basic hazmat suits. Go put one on if it makes you feel better."

There was no time to be questioning Hazelton on how well he was trained to handle this kind of emergency. Waits gave a growl of displeasure before heading into the back of the armory to put on a hazmat suit and gas mask on. He was trailed by Marshals Turner and Ricardo.

Whatever was leaking in the ship would have to be sealed up in something airtight. If the station didn't have proper gear for a CBRN attack, then a sealing container probably wasn't available. Unless . . .

"Turner, Ricardo, keep heading to the Spaceflight Terminals. I'm going to the hospital," Waits said.

"What for?" Ricardo asked.

"Get something to seal the bag."

* * *

San Cristobal was already on standby to receive patients possibly exposed to whatever had been on the ship. Waits could see Lingard placing needles of antidotes in a case. He walked up to her, kneeling before pulling up his gas mask. "Hey, I need something from you."

Lingard removed her mask. "What?"

"You got any of those big cases for sterilized equipment?"

"A few, yeah."

"We're gonna need one to put the leaking bag in. Mind if I borrow it?"

Lingard looked a little hesitant.

"What's the matter?"

"N-Nothing."

"Look-" Waits leaned in to whisper, "I wouldn't be asking you for something like this if it wasn't important, OK? I'm not saying 'do this or I'll wreck your career.'"

"I know. I know."

"Besides, this'll save a lot of people. I know that's what you care about."

"I know." Lingard took a breath. "Morley!"

"Yes?" Morley turned to face her. His face, too, was obscured by a gas mask.

"Make sure all these antidotes are in order. I have to get something for the Marshals."

"Alright, go ahead."

Lingard stood up, giving the case to Morley before gesturing for Waits to follow her. "We keep equipment like that in a restricted area. Stay out in the hall."

They headed down several winding corridors. Dark, winding corridors. Waits kept glancing over his shoulder out of nervousness. "I don't think I'll get over how creepy this place is."

"I think you'll get used to it after a little while longer," Lingard replied. "Were you scared of hospitals before?"

"No. Why?"

"Then you should get used to it fairly soon."

"Ah. Whatever you say, Doc."

Lingard stopped at a heavy-looking door with a passcode lock. Waits looked away as she put in the code, and disappeared inside. He looked down at his boots, and folded his arms over his chest as he waited for Lingard.

She came out of the room a few minutes later, holding a large case. "Put whatever you need inside, then make sure these two buckle pieces are snapped shut, and press the center button to seal it completely. If you hear a hissing sound when you press it, it means there's a leak and it's not airtight. I just tested it; it should work fine."

"Thanks," Waits said.

"Good luck." Lingard paused, but before Waits could leave the hallway, she called, "And please be careful."

Waits turned around when he heard that. Lingard couldn't see him smile with the gas mask on, so he gave her a thumbs-up, and a wave.

* * *

_2175_

Eyes bleary from sleep, it took Gorman a moment to realize it was only three-thirty in the morning. He sat up, rubbing his face and gradually feeling each of his senses waking up. He had gone to sleep late last night. Why was he up so early?

He looked to his left to see no one was sharing the bed with him. While the bed wasn't exactly big enough for two people, it wouldn't have mattered to him or Lydia. Her first apartment had a very small bed, which they shared when they were ready to see how they liked sleeping together. Gorman had struggled with it, not because he didn't appreciate Lydia's company, but because it was a feeling he wasn't used to. He tossed and turned, and accidentally pushed kitten Pixie off the bed. He wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep.

A clattering noise jolted him from his thoughts, and he became aware of the fact that he wasn't alone in the room. It sent a chill down his spine. He took his robe from the edge of the bed, and quietly crept toward the source of the sound in the bathroom. He became a lot less anxious when he heard a woman's voice hiss, "Shit!"

Giving a quiet sigh, Gorman approached the bathroom doorway, and saw Towers was filling his soap dispenser with a green dye. The top of the dispenser had fallen on the floor. Towers paused when she noticed him in the mirror, and turned around. She looked shocked that she had been caught.

"What are you doing up?" she whispered.

"I was just about to ask the same thing," Gorman replied. "Along with, 'what are you doing in my bathroom?'"

"Nothing."

"I know I just woke up, but I'm not blind or stupid. What's that you're putting in my soap bottle?"

"Green dye . . . because Saint Paddy's Day is next week."

"Is it going to stain my hands?"

"Only for a day . . . or two."

Gorman folded his arms over his chest. "Dump it. Right now. All of it."

Towers reluctantly emptied the dispenser in the sink, face red with embarrassment. "Are you going to punish me?"

"I think your prank failing is punishment enough. Rinse the dispenser and put more soap in it."

Towers did what she was told. As she put more soap in, she glanced at Gorman. "Can't believe I didn't hear you get up."

"Silence is an essential skill for a Vent Rat. Plus, you're probably not used to me waking up in the middle of your antics."

"Did you need to pee or something?"

"No. Just . . . woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

Towers looked at him a little more sympathetically. "One of those nights, or bad dreams?"

"I think it's just one of those nights."

Towers fell silent. "Sorry."

"Not your fault." Gorman looked her in the eye. "I'll give you a choice; you can stay and talk, or go back to bed."

"If I stay and talk, you're not going to tell anyone about it, are you?"

"No."

"OK. I'll stay." Towers rinsed her hands and followed Gorman out to the bed. They both sat cross-legged on it. "I used to do this at friends' houses when I stayed the night, you know, sit up late and talk. Didn't talk about much, though. Just . . . boys, school, hair, and periods. Girly stuff."

"Probably fun at the time, but I'm guessing that changed as you got older."

"Yeah. I date, but . . . no one's ever stuck with me for more than . . ." Towers looked down at her lap, embarrassed, "a night."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Sounds like you're really hanging out with the wrong people."

"Well, in the nights I was waiting to finally be assigned to a unit, some of those 'wrong people' were Marines. Nothing really happened, just . . . awkward kissing and changing from me to some other girl. Stuff like that."

"Fresh graduates as well?"

Towers nodded.

"They'll learn. My wife was actually my first and only girlfriend. I wasn't really interested in dating when I was in high school, or when I first joined the Marines. I was a nerd. In the gifted programs, spending much of my free time in the library, that sort of thing. I actually taught myself Irish over the course of my sophomore and junior years."

"Is that a big part of your family history? Being Irish?"

"Yes. Both my parents have predominantly Irish ancestry. My grandfather, on my dad's side of the family, had a huge chart of family history, stretching back to the late . . . seventeen hundreds, I think. My father inherited that chart when Granddad passed away a few years ago. I'll have to take another look at it next time I visit. Anyway, about the dating, I was, and still am, pretty introverted, and wasn't among the more popular people in my class. Even among the other gifted students. I had an almost pathological fear of speaking in front of people. Couldn't do it to save my life."

"And yet you advanced to gunnery sergeant and command a unit of Marines."

"I'm getting to that. It was primarily the huge checklist we had to keep in mind when it came to speaking in front of a class. Most of it prevented the speech from flowing naturally. The main focus of delivering the speech and getting your point to the audience was completely lost, and I struggled to figure out what was important and what wasn't, so I froze and couldn't talk at all. I was made to retake the class so many times, until I finally dropped it. When it comes to talking in front of Marines, I only have one objective, and not having to worry about being graded because of my tone, my visual aids, or, heaven forbid, I didn't write an outline, really helped me feel more confident in speaking. I didn't think of it as 'public speaking.' I thought of it as 'informing my troops on our mission.'"

"So, it wasn't because you have a disorder. You felt so restrained by the class that you were afraid of fucking up, to the point where your brain froze."

Gorman nodded. "Never had difficulties speaking in front of Marines, though."

"I feel like I have to yell if I'm talking to a group, because I'm afraid someone might start crying or say, 'Mommy, Jared pooped again!'"

"Well, here, you only have to yell if you're in combat, or your instructor says he can't hear you."

"Why do they want you to yell when they're right there and clearly not deaf?"

"Enthusiasm."

"Ah. Makes sense. They didn't appreciate sarcastic enthusiasm much."

"I'm honestly surprised you're still in one piece if you did that."

"I'm a little surprised, too."

Gorman smiled, and glanced at the clock. "Almost four."

"I didn't think I'd enjoy talking to you, but . . . I do. Don't tell anyone I said that. Starting to think you're not as big a hardass as I thought." Towers drew her legs up, resting her head on her knees.

"Thanks. I try."

"Aside from the very beginning, you're . . . you haven't called me stupid or anything. You actually think I mean something, which I haven't gotten."

"I'm sorry."

"Can I give you a hug? Or is that not allowed?"

Without a word, Gorman opened his arms.

Towers squeezed him, and then whispered, "Um . . . I'm sorry about your coffee."

"About putting salt in it? That's fine. No need to apologize."

"No. Before I came here to mess with your soap . . . I took out the grounds you prepared for this morning, and put a potato in it."

Gorman sighed. "I won't get upset if you promise to fix it when you leave."

"Promise."

* * *

_2135_

Waits marched back down to the Spaceflight Terminals with the airtight container. He held up the container as he approached Seegson Security and his two other Marshals. "We can put the bag in this!"

The security team was equipped only with gas masks and gloves. The head of the team glanced at his men before looking at Waits. "Are you volunteering to go in there?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We were waiting for a Joe. We have no chemical weapons gear, Marshal. You shouldn't go in that ship."

A few minutes passed before a Working Joe strolled up to the scene. It muttered something about how this incident was being logged to Apollo, before Waits growled, "Put the suitcase inside this container. Got that?"

"Affirmative," the android replied, lifelessly, turning to board the ship with the container.

Waits paced around and behind the Seegson Security men. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, but he was covered by the hazmat suit. He knew there was a risk something in the bag could explode. Then again, at least only the Joe would be lost. _Good riddance._

The android eventually returned, stating the hazard was contained, though there were still traces of nerve gas throughout the ship.

"Great. They brought nerve gas," one of the Seegson Security men said.

"When the passengers get out of quarantine, they're to be sent right to the Marshal Bureau. Whoever brought that shit here is gonna regret the day they were born when I'm done with them," Waits muttered.

* * *

Hazelton was still seated at his desk when Waits returned from decontamination. He slid a clipboard with report papers in Waits's direction.

"When this is over, I'm contacting Command about getting proper CBRN gear," Waits said. "We're lucky the hospital was able to provide us with a sterile box to put the suitcase in. Now we need someone to dispose of it."

"_I_ will contact someone to dispose of it, Waits. No one said you were in charge," Hazelton replied.

"Credit where credit is due, sir," Ricardo said. "Waits did think of getting a container from the hospital."

"Fine. Whaddaya want, Waits? Want a pat on the back? A round of applause?"

"Tell me, Hazelton, what would your spineless ass have done?" Waits was done biting his tongue.

"Called a decontamination team and waited for them so they can properly handle it."

"It takes three weeks for anyone to get out here! By then, the whole terminal would've been flooded with nerve gas!"

"Seal it in the ship!"

"And then what? The decon team can't open the airlock, or else the gas gets out. You'd have to disconnect the whole ship and let it float down to the gas giant. You think Seegson wants to pay that kind of money?"

A new voice spoke up behind Waits. "No, we don't want to pay that kind of money."

Waits turned around to see the same man he had seen with Lingard two weeks ago. Ransome, the one who was blackmailing her on a regular basis. He placed a hand on Waits's shoulder. "I should thank you for preventing a terrible crisis, Marshal . . . Waits, is it? I don't think we've met yet. I'm Ransome." He held out his hand.

Waits didn't return the gesture. "Nice to meet you, now get out. Our business isn't yours."

Ransome frowned. "As head Seegson executive, I have a right to know what you're doing here, Marshal. You know, for the good of Sevastopol."

"Right." Waits pointed to the door. "Out."

Ransome gave Waits a dirty look. "You can't-"

"Yes, I can. The Marshals are not bound to whatever company is in charge of the station, therefore, I can tell you to leave, and you can either obey my instructions or I kick you out with my baton so far up your ass, you'll feel it in your ribcage. Is that understood?"

"Waits, that's enough," Hazelton said. "I'm getting real sick of you threatening everyone who doesn't listen to you right away. Give me your baton and your gun. You're going off-duty for a few hours. Come back at seven tonight. I think you need another night shift to teach you a lesson."

Without a sound, Waits placed his baton and revolver on the desk before storming out of the Bureau.

* * *

_Ungrateful bastards, _Waits kept thinking to himself as he rode the elevator down to the transit station. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach-twice.

He knew there was only one other person on this entire Godforsaken station who'd be sympathetic to him, and probably even happy that he tried to tell Ransome off. Hopefully, Lingard wasn't too busy at the moment.

She was in her office, working on something from her computer, and glanced up when she saw Waits in the doorway. "Yes?"

"You busy?" Waits asked.

"Not really. Why?"

"Do you mind if I . . . talk to you?"

"Is it medical-related?"

"No, but you'll want to hear it."

"Alright. What is it?"

Waits closed the door behind him. "I got into an argument with Hazelton about how the nerve gas was handled. His plan was to call a decon team from another colony and wait. I said that waiting would just cause a bigger problem, and that we might have to just close the airlock and let the civvie ship float down toward the planet. My mistake was saying that Seegson wouldn't want to pay for that. Guess who was behind me after I said that?"

"Ransome?"

"Yep. Tried to congratulate me and everything. I told him he had no right to be in the Bureau, and he tried arguing with me, so, I threatened him. Hazelton was having none of that, and told me to hand in my baton and gun and go back tonight for an all-night shift."

"You better hope Ransome doesn't put a target on your back. No, you better _pray_ he doesn't put a target on his back. You better hope your guardian angel hasn't taken a vacation if Ransome tries to screw around with you."

"Well, whatever happens, I'm not gonna start sucking his dick for my safety. I'll get on the next transport-" Waits noticed a change in Lingard's expression, a sad one, "outta here." He paused, and sighed. "Sorry. F-For saying that, not that . . . you know, 'sorry, I'm leaving.' I'm not leaving."

"You shouldn't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Would you miss me? I'm getting the impression that . . . you'd miss me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your face changed when I said I'll get the next transport outta here."

Lingard fell silent. "Perhaps a little."

"I'd miss you, if that . . . if that helps. I don't think it does. I mean, I know we've only talked a few times, but . . . ah . . ."

"I'm the only person on this station capable of putting up with your abysmal people skills?"

"Yeah. That."

"Well, Waits, I like you as a friend because you're honest. I'll take your brutal, unfiltered honesty over the frequent backstabbing and hiding and untrustworthiness of most other people here."

"Thanks."

"Why do you keep coming back?"

"I like your company. You were nice to me when I first came here-"

"That was partly because you had waves in your stomach."

"Yeah, and you're a doctor, so, naturally, you want to help, but you were still nice to me after I got better. And you trusted me with your unfortunate history with Ransome. That . . . after a very long time of not having personal companions . . . that meant something to me, as crazy and sappy as it sounds. Believe me when I say I don't talk about shit like this with a lot of people."

"We have a few things in common. We're both busy-"

"Tired. Bored. Wanting to get out of here."

Lingard nodded, allowing silence to fall over her office. Waits rested his arms on Lingard's desk, then put his head down. "I'm taking a nap. Wake me at seven," he muttered.

A smile crossed Lingard's face, and she turned and tugged Waits's cap.

"Don't do that."

* * *

_Question: How are the relationships between Gorman and Towers, and Waits and Lingard similar? How are they different?_


	7. Chapter 7

_2175_

Gorman adjusted the hood of his jacket before tossing a baseball to Towers. The sky was a dull pale-gray, and a cold breeze occasionally blew around them. It had rained the day before, making everything smell fresh, yet wet and dismal at the same time.

"I did play softball for a couple years in high school," Towers said, after things had been silent between them for a few minutes.

"Nice. What position were you?" Gorman asked.

"Catcher. Coach told me I have better hand-eye coordination than any of the other girls on the team. And I wasn't a bad batter, either. Cracked the ball over the fence a few times."

"Your hand-eye coordination is definitely phenomenal, based on your shooting tests from basic," Gorman replied. He tossed the ball back to Towers. "Did you go all the way to your senior year, or did you stop?"

"I went all the way. It got less fun my senior year, but it was an escape because of how nutty it was at home."

"I'm guessing your family never went to see you play, judging by what you've told me."

"They did once. It was really embarrassing because of the younger ones. All you could hear was them crying and whining and I tried to focus on the game and pretend I didn't know them-even when they were calling my name."

"That does sound embarrassing. I was on the tennis team-well, it wasn't a team. More like a group of people you practiced with, but the points you earned went toward your school in every season match. I have some photos of me as a player that I cut out of my yearbook."

"Did you look different back then?"

"Not really. I was a lot skinnier, had a bit more hair. Actually, in the photos taken my junior year, I had the buzz cut I've got now, because I was trying to see how it felt before I went off to the Marines."

"So you were pretty determined to do this."

"Do what?"

"Join the Marines."

"Yeah."

"Of all the specialized jobs, why Vent Rats? I don't know anyone who can stand being in a confined space for more than a few minutes."

"I just don't have that fear." Gorman held up his glove to catch Towers's throw. "Why? I'm not sure. I've been in situations where I was scared for my life, but that was because I was trapped. In a vent, there's always a way out. Unless, of course, the enemy gasses the vents or seals you in somehow."

Towers nodded. "I'm guessing you went through that."

"Both, yeah."

"How did you get out?"

"With the gassing, I had to be dragged out by another Vent Rat. The confined space makes the gas a lot more concentrated, so my mask was struggling to filter in oxygen. I passed out thinking . . . I was closing my eyes for the last time, until I came to on a stretcher, being tended to by our medtech. Being sealed in . . . I had to wait for the demolition team to blow up part of the wall, which was extremely dangerous, but I'd rather take that chance than suffocate. It worked, obviously. The shafts cracked and came apart enough so I could pull them apart and squeeze out. That was also dangerous because I risked cutting myself, but at least that was the only injury I came away with."

"So you've been through a lot."

Gorman nodded.

"You're nuts and really cool at the same time. I always thought Vent Rats were people you just . . . never see. Here I am looking at one."

"I advanced in rank. Most Vent Rats don't."

"Because they're not good in leadership?"

"No." Gorman swallowed, a heavy feeling coming over his chest. "Because they die. They have a higher risk of death than an infantryman. It's incredibly rare to see Vent Rats last as long as I have."

"I'm sorry. Have you . . . lost a lot of friends?"

"Comrades, yes, but . . . I really didn't befriend anyone. It was drilled into my head during training that this is an extremely dangerous job, and it's better for my mental health that I don't get emotionally attached to anyone. As I became something of a leader, that became harder, because I want to have a personal connection with my subordinates. I feel like that'll make us a better team, but because of my job, I struggled with that, and almost cut it out entirely." Gorman stared down at the ball before tossing it to Towers. "When I was promoted to corporal, I did only what was required of me. I didn't bother . . . talking to anyone personally, because I had this overbearing feeling that they could be gone tomorrow. Eventually, when I became a sergeant, I said, 'You know what? If I'm a good leader, I will do everything in my power to keep my troops alive. I'm going to be the best I can be.' And here I am."

"What made you stand out from other Vent Rats? If that's a question that can even be answered."

"I have something of an eidetic memory. Before every mission, we're given a map of the building's vent system layout that we have to memorize. I was one of only a handful that can remember the vast majority of details from those maps when we're actually in those vents."

"I guess that's why you were in the gifted programs."

"Little bit. I can recall things with ease. Dates, names, events, maps."

"So, I'm guessing speaking was the only class you failed."

"Yeah. My other classes averaged 'B' or higher."

"I think I graduated with a 'C' or 'B' average. I'm pretty stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid. You just . . . didn't care as much as you should have."

"You're right. I should've focused on my schoolwork rather than cleaning up after my siblings. It was always embarrassing telling my teachers that, because then they wanted to know if I wanted to speak to a counselor. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I was afraid my parents would find out."

"Most counselor sessions are confidential. I think it's a law they can't disclose personal information to anyone."

"I was told it would be confidential. I was also afraid of being interrogated at home. Anyway, I didn't want it. I figured I'd get by school with the bare minimum, and then . . . get a job and move out. I didn't have any money, but I figured living in a cardboard box outside the grocery store I'd be working at would be better."

"Geez, I wouldn't want to see you go through that. I think you made a better choice enlisting."

"I did. I grabbed everything I needed after graduation and went right to a recruiter."

"Ah. I'm guessing you're still only eighteen, then?"

"I'll be nineteen in a few months. How old are you?"

"Thirty-three."

"No way. You don't look thirty-three."

"Aw, thanks."

"I was about to say you look like you're . . . older."

"Oh."

"Honestly, though, I can't tell whether you look older or younger than thirty-three. You're probably in damn good shape if you're a Vent Rat."

"With all the twisting and turning I have to do, I take my daily exercises seriously. We were explicitly told not to bulk up. Vent Rats had to be separated from the other recruits in the entrance processing exams because our acceptable weight has to be a lot lower than theirs. We also had to have extra tests for the dexterity of our limbs and spines."

"So, I'm guessing you had a very strict diet?"

"In a way, yes. They wanted us thin, but they didn't want our bones becoming fragile or our muscles disappearing completely. Punishment for taking things we weren't supposed to have was pretty severe when I was in training. Our instructor would watch us like a hawk. Great guy, but vicious. He caught someone with a cookie, ordered us all to stand, dump our trays, and go back to the barracks. He singled out the Marine with the cookie, but made the rest of us starve anyway."

"That must've been fun."

"He didn't want to take the chance that some of us actually finished our dinner, so he kept us in for breakfast. I was one of a few Marines who ended up passing out after an intense exercise session that morning. That was all very pleasant compared to actual missions I've done where I don't eat for a few days."

"You've spent _days_ inside vents?"

Gorman nodded.

"How the fuck did you survive that?"

"Luck, I guess."

Towers grinned a little. "I think I like you even more now."

They kept tossing the ball back and forth until Corporal Valen came outside. "Gorman! Emergency broadcast in the comm room!"

Gorman quickly threw the ball to Towers before jogging over to Valen. "What's going on?"

"There's been a massive power outage on Gateway. The labs have gone dark."

* * *

_2135_

A week had passed since the thwarted nerve gas attack, and Marshal Command had expressed its displeasure with Hazelton's performance. Even some of the Marshals who weren't too sure about Waits in the beginning were starting to question Hazelton's leadership. Then again, that didn't mean they wanted Waits in charge.

It hadn't taken very long for Waits to figure out his reputation from other colonies had reached such a remote place like Sevastopol. He could hear Ricardo and Ross and Turner talking about him on break. Talking about how he wasn't the most pleasant to work with, how he didn't talk much to anyone, how he didn't seem interested in other people's lives or feelings. At times, it made Waits sick to hear, but he also didn't care.

Harris, Garcia, and Sterling never voiced much of an opinion, though Harris had secretly congratulated Waits on standing up to both Hazelton and Ransome.

It would be some time before an inspector came. The only thing certain was that Waits's efforts and take-charge attitude definitely sparked some water-cooler conversations.

"He's just going to get meaner and meaner, now that he's had a bit of a taste of being the boss," Ross had said. "Soon, we'll all start wondering who's really in charge."

"At least Hazelton is respectful toward the civilians," Ricardo added. "Waits would have our reputation tank, and fast."

"Well, would you rather have incompetence or a by-the-book asshole?" Sterling asked.

"That's actually a tough question!"

Waits shot them a look. "Just how old do we think we are? Are we teenage girls in a fucking high school bathroom?"

"Careful, mates, he might shove his baton up your ass," Sterling snickered.

Hazelton didn't look up from his desk. "Alright, gentlemen, that's enough. Get back to your posts." When the others left, Hazelton glared at Waits. "You running that one operation means absolutely nothing. Don't even think about taking charge of anything else."

It didn't come as a surprise that Waits's boldness didn't make Hazelton happy. At this point, Waits didn't care, for two reasons; one was that he was certain the inspector would toss Hazelton for the shoddy way he was running his Marshals, combined with the skeletal armory and no biohazard gear. Two was that Waits finally had something else to think about.

Most people don't have secret friendships. Truthfully, Waits had no reason to keep his friendship with Lingard a secret. He just didn't want rumors spreading like wildfire on Sevastopol. People were likely bored and looking for something interesting to talk about. That, and Waits wanted to keep his life private. His happiness, too.

Waits spent every opportunity he could with Lingard. It felt good to have someone to talk to. It felt good that she hadn't been driven away by his brutal honesty, foul language, and subpar social skills. Even better was that she completely understood his dedication to his job, and he understood hers. They made each other happy, and it seemed like something they both needed.

There were days where Lingard didn't feel like talking. Something had happened, and she didn't want to talk about it. So Waits would just sit with her, in silence. At least, in silence for a little while. There would always be a point where he would start talking about something on his mind. He knew it helped her feel better, because she would lock eyes with him, and eventually, she would smile and reach over to tug his cap.

Waits came to hate seeing Lingard sleep in the hospital. Even after telling her that San Cristobal was creepy at night and that she needed to rest in her own apartment, he'd find her in a bed in a cold, cramped room designed so the doctors and nurses could be on-call all night. He tapped her shoulder until she woke up. "I'm not gonna leave you alone till you go sleep in your own apartment," he'd whisper.

If she didn't move, he'd physically carry her to her apartment. He put her over his shoulder, despite her protests.

"Dammit, Waits, put me down! I'll walk on my own!" Lingard snapped. When that didn't work, she tugged his cap, pulling it over his eyes, and turning it all the way around his head. Then, giving a grunt of frustration, she plucked it off, and threw it behind them.

"Alright, that I didn't appreciate-" Waits turned around, adjusting his grip on Lingard before squatting to pick up his cap.

"I'll keep doing it until you put me down."

"Fine."

They had a transit car all to themselves. That didn't come as a surprise at such a late hour. As they rode away from SciMed Tower, Lingard rubbed her face. "Honest-to-God, Waits, what difference does it make where I sleep?"

"You haven't taken care of yourself in three days. Let somebody else handle your work while you take a shower and get some rest. And it's fucking cold in there."

"Why aren't you in your own apartment?"

"I'm on night-shift. Again. Hazelton didn't appreciate me threatening to piss in his coffee this morning."

Lingard gave him a look. "Didn't you threaten to do the same thing to his breakfast last week?"

"Yeah. I said I'd piss in his Cheerios if he didn't actually get off his ass and stop staring at papers all day. There's more to being a Head Marshal than fucking paperwork."

"I hope you don't forget to get some sleep yourself. Stop being such a sourpuss." Lingard yanked Waits's cap again.

"Ask nicely."

"I shouldn't have to ask nicely!"

The transit stopped. A maintenance worker got in the car ahead of them, and didn't notice them at all. Then they pulled away from the stop, entering the long tunnel between SciMed and the habitation towers.

Conversation stopped completely. The tunnel was dark, and the dim lights didn't help. Waits tried to imagine they were in a major city, rather than an increasingly desolate space station. The bumpy ride and Working Joe ads didn't help.

From the corner of his right eye, Waits noticed Lingard's head on his shoulder. Her even breathing told him she was asleep. Sighing, Waits put his arm around her, pressing her close and keeping her warm. They stayed that way for the rest of the ride, and when the transit stopped in the habitation towers, Waits gently shook Lingard awake. "Hey, we're here, Sleeping Beauty."

He walked with her to the elevator, and found himself being used as something for Lingard to lean on, as she was practically asleep on her feet. Giving another sigh, he whispered, "Could you not do that?"

"Do what?" Lingard asked.

"Lean on me like that. You're making me sleepy, too."

"Sorry."

The elevator doors opened, and Waits followed Lingard out into the hall. She looked over her shoulder to see he was still with her, and hesitated for a heartbeat or two before putting her arms around him. "Thanks."

"For what?" Waits asked.

"For . . . giving a damn, I guess."

"Ah. No problem. I'm not always an asshole."

Lingard stretched up a little. Waits suspected it was to pull his cap again, but froze when Lingard kissed his cheek. "Good night, Waits. See you tomorrow," she said.

"Right. I-I mean, good . . . good night, Doc." Waits was blushing when Lingard turned to head to her apartment. A strange blend of shock and happiness swelled like a balloon in his chest.

* * *

Happiness was much easier to conceal compared to other emotions. Waits didn't have any trouble going back to the Marshal Bureau with his signature grumpiness. Then again, _this_ happiness . . . Waits grinned when no one was looking at him. He filled his cup at the coffee machine, taking in the delicious scent and wishing he was down in the food court with Lingard instead.

Hazelton walked into the Bureau, sighing. "'Morning, gentlemen. Waits."

When Hazelton had his back turned, Waits promptly displayed his middle finger. Having seen this, Ricardo shook his head.

"What?" Hazelton asked, glaring at him.

"Nothing, sir," Ricardo replied.

Hazelton turned around, giving Waits a hard look. "Anything to report from last night?"

Waits took a sip of his coffee. "Nope. All quiet. Nothing but dead silence and dust bunnies having a rave party."

"Good." Hazelton approached the coffeemaker. "Can you move, please?"

"Since you said 'please.'" Waits stepped away from the machine.

Hazelton kept glancing at him, as if he was afraid Waits was going to do something when he wasn't watching. "Are you going to behave today, Waits? I made sure your newly adjusted paycheck was sent to the bank."

"And I'm going to make sure all the money's actually there. I will tell the inspector if you're screwing around when he arrives in a couple weeks."

Hazelton bit his lip, narrowing his eyes to gray slits. "I will also be telling him about your behavior. Threatening your superior, and threatening civilians-"

"When did I threaten a civilian?"

"After the nerve gas incident. You threatened Ransome."

"He had no right to be in here!"

"That does not mean you threaten him with violence. We're all trying to make it till Sevastopol's closing, and you're making it unbearable."

"_I'm_ making it unbearable? Who sat here on his ass and-"

"Do you want me to pull you from duty until the inspector arrives?! Shut. Up. I don't want to hear another word out of you unless it's actually important."

Waits sighed, though the sigh was tinged with a snarl. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Get out. Go find something to make yourself useful and out of my hair."

Sliding his baton in his belt, Waits left the Bureau, finding himself in a small crowd of people making their way to their jobs or the food court. Some moved out of his way, glancing at him.

His stomach grumbled a plea for breakfast when he caught the scent of something sweet and salty cooking in the mall. Of course, not everything that smelled good was going to taste good, but having been up all night without a wink of sleep and only coffee in his system, anything sounded good at the moment.

After briefly scanning the food court, Waits felt his heart sink when he didn't see Lingard anywhere. He swallowed, keeping his facial expression under control as he approached one of the counters.

Even after sitting down, he kept glancing around, wondering if Lingard would show up. He figured he was too late. Maybe another day.

He wasn't alone for long; a few minutes after sitting, he was joined by Ransome, holding a cup of coffee.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, Waits," Ransome said. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in a setting you don't think I'm intruding on."

Waits gave him a dirty look. "I'm not a moron. I still don't appreciate you barging into the Bureau, and I won't forget it."

"Well, I certainly don't appreciate you kicking Hazelton around and stealing kisses with Lingard in the halls of the apartment towers."

Empty stomach contorting, Waits found himself struggling to keep a newfound rage at bay. "For your information, Hazelton is a crap-heap of a Marshal, and I haven't kissed Lingard ever."

"That's not what I saw last night. I went to see what all the voices were near my suite, and I caught you and her pressed close together, hugging, and kissing."

"Why's it any of your business in the first place?"

"Why shouldn't it be? I have Lingard in a good spot. I don't need a hardass like you taking her out of it, and I especially don't need you getting in Hazelton's way. You will not say a word to the Marshal inspector, or I will tell the whole station about what I saw with you and Lingard. It will fuck your career and reputation so hard, you won't even know what happened."

Waits realized he had been backed into a corner. A very small corner. This was exactly what Lingard had warned him about. The worst part was that he had no choices here. He took a breath. "Alright, I won't say anything."

Saying that felt horrendously rotten. When Ransome finally left, Waits had lost his appetite. As awful as he felt, he knew he wasn't letting Ransome get away with this. He would find a way to tell the inspector about Hazelton's incompetence. That is, if the inspector didn't see it for himself.

He also felt embarrassed that he had been seen with Lingard in what could easily be interpreted as an intimate embrace. Plus, it was only Lingard who did the kissing, and it was an innocent gesture. A wordless thanks. They could be friends, couldn't they? _I'm not up for doing any Romeo and Juliet-type shit here._

For once in his life, he had someone he was happy with, and he didn't want to let anyone's bullshit get in the way of that. He had let that happen one too many times.

* * *

_2175_

Gorman and Valen sat in front of one of the computer monitors in the comm room, right as the face of General Russell flickered on. It was a broadcast transmitted to every base, so they couldn't communicate with him.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the United States Colonial Marine Corps. By now, I'm sure you've heard that there's been an incident on Gateway Station. Communication channels are down due to the outage. As of now, we have no clue whether this is an accident or some type of terrorist attack. My advice for everyone is not to panic, but I'm ordering all squad commanders to have their Marines ready at my signal. Again, please, do not panic. Additional instructions will follow as the situation progresses."

The screen flickered off. Valen glanced at Gorman. "Jesus."

Gorman sighed. "You heard him. Gather everyone in the briefing room."

The squad was sitting in the briefing room within five minutes of Valen calling them. Gorman sat on a desk next to a large, blank projector screen, waiting for everyone to quiet down. "Alright, alright, children, let's shut our traps and listen. Wade, Towers-"

A balled-up piece of paper struck Gorman in the forehead. He smirked at Towers. "Knock it off, missy. Hey! Seriously, stop talking, everyone."

The Marines all fell silent.

"OK. Valen and I just got an emergency broadcast message from General Russell. The power just went out on the labs of Gateway Station. No one knows if this was just a bad accident, or there's terrorist activity. Regardless, the general wants every squad available to be ready in case he calls on them. Considering this is Gateway, Russell might be thinking about sending his best Vent Rats-"

"And that would be you, Gunny?" Towers asked.

"Probably. He also gave a strict order not to panic, but to be prepared. I want everyone to head down to the armory, check your weapons and armor. Maxie, make sure you have a full medkit. Dropship pilots, head down to the hangar. Everyone else, armory. Go. _Do not_ suit up unless I say so." Gorman followed close behind his Marines, knowing he was not except from checking his own armor and weapons. "Come on, no messing around in here. Help each other out when you're done." He opened his locker, taking out his torso armor. On the left side was a cut from where a hostile had tried to sink in an ax; afterward, Gorman had written "_Dance Along the Razor's Edge_" above it. Under his name stencil was "_1 in 100_," and on his back was "_Intangible Protection_."

The face of a black cat had been drawn on his chest, and it wore a collar bearing a Celtic cross. On his helmet was a somewhat crude sketch of a griffin, a symbol of strength. The paint of all of his graffiti was chipping from years of use and wear, and every chip could tell a story. He was proud of all of them.

After checking over his gear, Gorman weaved his skinny body through the crowded armory to check on everyone else. It didn't come as a surprise that Towers had the cleanest set of armor; she hadn't even painted on it yet. _But she will in time._

Gorman sat next to her. "Need any help?"

"No, I'm good," Towers replied. "They drilled this checking shit into us at basic."

"Well, I won't yell at you for not checking it in the exact order they had you do it in basic. I wouldn't worry too much about yours; that's a fresh set. Just make sure nothing's loose or looks like it may've been damaged in the factory." He grinned. "I've seen so much dirtied armor, it's weird seeing it so . . . pristine."

Towers smirked a little. Behind her eyes, though, Gorman could see worry, and it wrenched his heart.

* * *

_Question: Just for laughs, how would Waits handle Hudson?_


	8. Chapter 8

_2135_

Waits entered San Cristobal in search of Lingard. When he didn't find her, he approached Morley, who was sliding a couple of X-rays into a large folder. "Excuse me, Doctor Morley? Can I ask where Doctor Lingard is?"

"Do you have an appointment?" Morley asked, sealing the folder.

"No. I just need to talk to her about . . . something personal."

"Is she at least expecting you?"

"Not sure."

Morley raised an eyebrow. "Well, she told me she was headed to the ladies' room. Haven't seen her come out in about twenty minutes or so. Hope everything's alright."

"I'll let her know you said that." Waits turned to head down the hall. When he spotted the door of the women's bathroom, he knocked. "Doc? It's Waits. I need to talk to you."

He got no answer, but he heard someone sigh. He knocked again. "Are you OK? Morley's wondering where you are."

A minute later, the door opened. Lingard's eyes were red and wet with tears. "What do you want?"

"I gotta talk to you in private. It's about Ransome."

"If it's about how he saw me kiss you, I already know."

"He told you?"

"He went to my apartment earlier this morning. This . . . This is all my fault-"

"No, no, it's not. Come on, it's not your fault he's an asshole."

More tears rolled down her face. "It is my fault I've slept with him, though."

"Pardon?"

"A few times." Looking down, Lingard swallowed nervously. "Only way I was able to get new equipment for the operating room. People would've died without it."

"Did he force you to do it?"

"No. I didn't want to give up anymore records, so . . . I gave an alternative. Waits, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Was it a shitty move? Yes, but you put other people ahead of yourself, even though you . . . had to sleep with Ransome. Look, if . . . if Hazelton gets removed after the inspection, I will do whatever I can to deal with this. I don't care if the station is going to be decommissioned soon. I won't let this continue."

"He's going to tell everyone what he saw if Hazelton gets removed. It doesn't matter whether you tell the inspector or not. You don't even know if you're going to be named as his replacement."

"You got a point with that." Waits took a breath. "This is a big risk we're taking."

Lingard nodded.

"I guess . . . I guess we better hope the decommissioning is soon. That way we can . . . hop on a transport to Gateway and keep doing what we do best, without worrying about Ransome."

"Well, until then, we'll make do with what we have, and . . . find happiness and enjoyment wherever we can. There's a place in the mall under the habitation towers we can go to that Ransome wouldn't be seen dead in. Very cheap grill. Not up to his tastes at all, but the service is excellent."

"When you say 'cheap,' you mean-"

"Not fancy. Comfort food. Friendly people. Lots of beer."

"I'm sold on that. I could use a drink."

"OK. When should we go?"

"Tonight? I'll make sure not to get night shift again."

"No matter how much it hurts, please, don't threaten to ruin Hazelton's stuff."

"Whatever you say, Doc." Waits paused, the moments from last night suddenly surfacing in his brain. "One more thing, before I go, Doc . . ." He stopped himself, embarrassed, but knew he had to follow through, given that he had Lingard's attention. "I should probably return the gesture from last night."

"What gesture?"

_The kiss._ He gulped, face reddening. Nervously, he tugged his shirt collar. Heart pounding faster, he gave Lingard a quick kiss on the forehead, and turned away before she could see his blush deepen.

* * *

That small moment haunted Waits for the rest of the day. He kept to himself, not wanting anyone to read the details within his face. He relaxed as the day went on, knowing that this would remain between him and Lingard. Mostly. Her kiss for him was already blown. His for hers would hopefully remain secret.

They both knew it didn't mean much of anything. It could mean anything to anyone who witnessed, and it was only a matter of time before Ransome told the whole station. The worst part was that Waits had no way making him keep his mouth shut. No _legal_ way, that is. Waits was not about to stoop to Ransome's level, nor would he take him to an isolated part of the station and shoot him.

A cold feeling pulsated through Waits's veins as he thought of that. He couldn't do that. Ransome was no innocent, but it wasn't like he had killed anyone. Perhaps he was a different person outside Sevastopol. Maybe he'd shape up when Waits took Hazelton's place and made it clear he wasn't going to put up with anyone's bullshit. _One can hope._

The mall underneath the first floor of the habitation towers was merely an extension of the mall on the first floor, and it looked just as deserted. Most shops were empty. A few drunks sat around, looking dazed and confused.

A glow came from one open place at the end of the mall. Waits stepped inside to find two people sitting at a table, and the heavy scent of fried food. The walls were covered in pictures of places on Earth. Cities, mountains, forests, beaches, and suburban streets. Near the bar was a chalkboard reading "__ Days Till Sevastopol Closes!_" Waits imagined an actual number would go there when it was finally announced the station would be decommissioned.

"Come on in and have a seat, Marshal!" A young, scruffy man peered out from the kitchen, face covered in grease and flour and spices. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Whichever beer you have, son," Waits replied. He noticed Lingard waving to him from a booth, and he swallowed nervously before sitting across from her. "Hi."

"Hi," Lingard said. "You OK? You're flush."

"Sorry. Just . . . um . . . I'm sorry about earlier."

"With what? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Waits lowered his voice. "About . . . you know, kissing you on the forehead. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, that. Seriously, you don't have to apologize for that."

"Really? I was afraid . . . you'd think it means something when it really doesn't."

She tugged his cap. "Relax. I appreciated it. Just enjoy yourself."

A waiter with a filthy apron walked over to the table with a bottle. "Here's your beer, sir. Can I get you two some biscuits?"

"Sure. And menus, please," Waits said. He looked at Lingard when the waiter left. "You're right, this place is probably considered a dump to Ransome. Reminds me of the roadside diners back home."

"Where exactly is 'home' for you? I don't think you've ever told me where you're from."

"Well, I don't come from Hell, like the other Marshals think. I'm actually from Massachusetts, near a small town called Deerfield. It's dead silent there. Bitterly cold for most of the year. Summer brings the tourists to the historic part of town. It's real pretty in the fall, though. But still bitterly cold. When I got my driver's license, I took my father's car and would drive out to Boston. He eventually got tired of that, and kicked me out at a dealership with some money and told me to get my own vehicle." A sad smile crossed Waits's face. "Dad was . . . a tough son-of-a-bitch to get along with, but he was loyal to us and gave us whatever we needed to succeed."

"I'm guessing he's . . . passed on?"

Waits nodded. "About ten years ago."

"You miss him?"

"Quite a bit at times. I've gotten distant from my family ever since . . . ever since I became a Marshal. I'm still close to my sister. Send her messages every week. I've just struggled to get along with her husband and get closer to my nephew. I don't think I'd have this issue if I had a post closer to home. I wanted to leave home, though. I was tired of the quiet and the long fucking winters and the lack of things to do. I'd get to go places as a Marshal. That much was guaranteed. I just . . . wish it didn't come at the price of straining my relationship with Em. I can't take her away from her husband, or her son. I've definitely filled the role of the uncle who only shows up every few years, and the kid barely has any memory of when I last visited. Considering my body's now struggling to handle hypersleep, I'll probably be stuck at Gateway till somebody tells me to retire. At least I'd be able to do my job and have better access to Em and Micah. Maybe things would get better."

The waiter returned with menus and a basket of biscuits, along with tiny butter packets and a jar of honey. "Enjoy, my friends," he said, laying everything out. "Please, don't hesitate to call me when you're ready."

Lingard waited until he left before settling her gaze back on Waits. "I'm guessing that's why you can be a bit grouchy sometimes; you don't like admitting it, but you're lonely."

Waits nodded.

"I won't deny that Sevastopol isn't the best place to make friends. I thought this place would be spectacular for my career. I can remember I was happy and excited and . . . way too trusting. That's probably why Ransome picked me to be the one to blackmail, over and over. Morley's too smart and Kuhlman's too unpredictable."

"Not sure about Kuhlman being a good idea to talk to, but . . . does Morley know about this?"

"No, and I feel bad for . . . having to come up with excuses as to why some of our patient files have been accessed. I've thought about telling him, but I don't know what his reaction will be."

"I think he should know what's going on. I think he'd be just as pissed at Ransome as anyone, and he seems like someone who'd understand you didn't feel like you had a choice. I don't think he'd be mad at you."

"I hope you're right."

"Have I ever been wrong with you?"

"I don't think we've known each other long enough for me to give a definite 'yes' or 'no' answer."

Waits pretended to be insulted, but then smirked. "You know me better than anyone else on this station."

"In a way, you're right. And this all stemmed from us running into each other when you had to throw up."

Waits shook his head, smiling though he looked embarrassed. "We're gonna be bringing that up for a long time, I think."

* * *

Within an hour, Waits and Lingard were the only people left in the grill. The staff didn't seem to mind; they continued to bring out the beer for Waits and refill Lingard's water.

Waits was tipsy. His words gradually became more slurred as he continued to drink. His stories were frequently interrupted by hiccups. Eventually, after Waits mumbled his apartment number, Lingard helped him stand up, putting his arm around her shoulders.

She sighed. "OK, you've had enough. Time for bed. Hazelton won't be happy if you show up hungover."

"I'm OK, honey, I'm OK." Waits hiccupped. "Hazelton won't know, 'cause he wouldn't know his dick from his elbow."

Lingard couldn't help but grin at that.

Waits's drunken ramblings echoed throughout the empty mall, as did Lingard's occasional bursts of laughter. She struggled to shush him as they got closer to the elevator. He was flush, and his eyes were sparkling, smiling for no discernable reason as they rode up to the apartments. He slumped against the wall, forcing Lingard to pull on him when they arrived on their floor.

"I only know where you live 'cause we're on the same floor," Waits slurred.

Lingard peered out of the elevator, understandably paranoid that Ransome was watching. "OK, you need to be quiet. We don't need Ransome seeing us again."

"He can go sit on a cactus."

"Yes, he can, but we're not worrying about that right now. Get in your apartment, and go to sleep."

"Aw, night's over already?"

"I'm not staying with you. Do you even remember your door code?"

"Nope."

Lingard sighed, and rubbed her face. "Alright, well, I'm not just dumping you out here. You can stay in my apartment."

"Ain't that sweet."

Lingard shoved Waits into her apartment before closing and locking the door, whispering a prayer to herself that they hadn't been seen. "You can sleep on the couch."

"And where're you gonna sleep?"

"In my own bed. I'm going to shower first, though."

"Can I take a piss first?"

"Fine. Hurry up."

"Don't rush me."

Almost as soon as Waits entered the bathroom, a light on the phone began to flash and a beeping noise filled the apartment. Cursing to herself, Lingard picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Doctor, just calling to check up on you," Ransome said.

"What do you want?"

"I didn't see you in the first floor mall. Were you-what is that sound?"

Lingard looked at the bathroom door, hearing Waits relieving himself. "I'm . . . running water for something."

"Well, turn it off. It's annoying."

Covering the phone receiver with a towel, Lingard quietly knocked on the door. "Waits, can you hold it for just a minute?"

"No can do, ma'am. Once I start, I can't stop."

"Keep your voice down! For God's sake, how much did you have to drink?"

"A lot. I think I'm almost done . . . nope, not quite."

"Hurry up!"

"If I do that, it hurts . . . Alright, now I'm done."

Lingard went back to the phone. "Sorry about that."

"Is there someone in the apartment with you? I heard voices," Ransome said.

"That's just the television. What do you want, Ransome?"

"Oh, just checking in. I really was upset over that incident with Waits last night. I think you can do a lot better than that."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Waits is a perfectly fine human being."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. You have to watch your step around him. One wrong move, and he might hurt you. I don't think that's something the Marshals want in their record books. After all, he threatened me just for walking near the Bureau. I can't imagine what he'd do to you if you so much as looked at him wrong. You didn't hear he swore in front of a little girl?"

"I heard. Listen, Ransome, you're the last person I'd want relationship advice from. I know your divorce was rather messy, but you and your ex-wife were both in the wrong. I think you need to meet the right person and get your head out of Sevastopol's budget before you go around giving advice."

"As if Waits has better advice. Or potential."

"Waits is at least genuine. Is there anything else you need, or are you just bored right now?"

"Good night, Lingard." Ransome hung up.

Shaking her head, Lingard put the phone back on its hook. She turned to see Waits leaving the bathroom, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down. "You poor thing," she whispered, tossing a blanket on him. "Get some rest."

* * *

The first thing Waits felt upon waking up was a splitting headache, like someone was smashing a mallet against his skull. Attempting to sit up generated a surge of dull aches throughout his body, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his own apartment. "Jesus . . . Christmas . . . where the fuck am I?"

"Good morning." Lingard approached him, holding a wet washcloth. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit. I think they mixed something in that beer last night."

"Sit back." Lingard pressed the cold cloth to Waits's forehead. "You had a lot to drink, and you couldn't remember your door code, so I let you crash on my couch."

"Nothing . . . Nothing happened, right?"

"Other than you taking a very long piss while Ransome was on the phone, no. You were out like a light when you collapsed afterward."

Groaning, Waits rubbed his face. "Nobody can know about this. This'll spread more rumors than the kissing. Everyone and their mother on this Goddamn station is gonna think we had sex."

"My lips are sealed. I won't tell anyone."

"I'm trusting you. Don't even hint at it. Shit, how am I gonna go to the Bureau like this? Hazelton will find out I was drinking."

"The best I can say is take a shower, and have something to eat and drink."

"I really don't feel like eating."

"You're going to feel even worse if you don't put something in your stomach. Don't act like I haven't dealt with this before-and don't you give me that look. Get up, go shower. I'll make some tea and a light breakfast."

* * *

_2175_

The ticking of a clock on the wall was the only sound in the comm room. Gorman took a sip of coffee, glancing at each individual screen. It had been a tough decision, letting everyone go to bed at lights-out. They could be called at any moment.

_At least everything's ready to go if we are. _Gorman gave a quiet sigh. He was just as exhausted as everyone else, but refused to fall asleep.

Around eleven, one of the screens flickered to life. Gorman saluted. "General."

Russell nodded, and returned the salute. "Everything on Gateway is under control. I'm delivering another broadcast when I'm done with you here."

Gorman frowned. "Is . . . something wrong?"

"The Marshals just arrested an intruder in the labs next to Gateway. Former Seegson employee by the name of Brayden Wright. He locked a Marine in one of the labs containing a toxic plant and shot a scientist's pet. We're under the suspicion he caused the blackout, but we won't know until we interrogate him. You remember how we've been monitoring activity of former Seegson people after one of the Weyland-Yutani towers was bombed in Tokyo in 2167?"

"Yes, sir. I was . . . there."

"I think we were all hoping that was a one-time thing. I also think we were wrong, and it's time we move in on some of our targets. We need to know what else these people have planned. Your unit might be taking a trip to LV-510, and you're being placed under my command for the time being. Dock at Violet Rose Station, and take a shuttle down to the base in Netrayas. I'll keep you updated at things unfold."

"Alright, sir."

* * *

Russell's orders weren't confirmed until five in the morning; the unit was indeed traveling out to LV-510. Gorman gathered his Marines in the briefing room after breakfast, and gestured for everyone to sit down and be quiet. Then he waited. Once they fell silent, he took a breath. "I got mission orders earlier this morning."

Not a sound was made. Even Towers was quiet.

"We're not going to Gateway-well, technically, we are, but, the mission is on LV-510." Gorman picked up a remote, and turned on the projector screen behind him. "We will be docking at the transition station, Violet Rose, and taking a shuttle down to the city of Netrayas, where the location of a Seegson facility that was converted into a base of operations will be revealed to us. Any questions?"

"Is this a search-and-destroy mission?" Wade asked.

"No. This facility has computers containing hundreds of thousands of documents and recordings and black boxes from Seegson's history. Command wants us to find out if there are plans for attack hidden within these systems. When we get to Netrayas, we'll be able to analyze this mission in detail. We'll be taking the USS _McAuliffe_ from Gateway tomorrow. This'll be a three-week hypersleep journey. Make sure you let your loved ones know. You have all of today to do that, and get prepared. If things change, I will let you all know ASAP. Understood?"

"Yes, Gunny," the Marines said in unison.

"Alright, get to work."

* * *

"We have no idea how well guarded that facility is," Valen was saying, pulling something out of a locker. "They might have traps or specialized systems in place. I recommend taking a gas mask. Here, try this one on."

Gorman fit the mask to his face, tightening the back straps. He then paced the room and crawled on the floor to make sure the mask didn't move, and stood upright, loosening the straps to pull the mask off. "Fits well."

"Great. Pack this one, then. What else?"

"I'll take care of it. You go take care of your own gear. You're gonna be in charge when I'm in the vents."

"Right, Gunny." Valen left the room. Towers slid past him to enter.

"You need something?" Gorman asked, taking a pair of soft shoes out of his locker.

"Yeah. Well, first, what are those for? Going to a sleepover?" Towers replied, pointing to the moccasins.

"No. These are so I can move as silently as I can in a vent."

"Ah. OK, my real question is . . ." Towers glanced over her shoulder, then closed the door behind her. "I'm not sure I'm ready to do this."

"That's right, this is your first real mission." Gorman sat on a bench. "I was nervous on my first mission. Not just nervous, scared shitless. But, I had a lot of confidence in my sergeant. He knew what he was doing. He reassured us, and told me that I need to have confidence in myself and my training, though, without a doubt, when you're getting shot at, your survival instincts will kick in. That's all part of the job. Just remember to do what you're told, have faith in those above you, and yourself, too." He paused to think. "Can you do me a favor while we're there, though?"

"What?"

"When I go in the vent systems, I need you to hold my armor. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks. I'm giving you a big job, OK? Don't lose it unless it's absolutely necessary."

"OK." Towers bit her lip, then took a breath. "I'm also afraid of failure. I'm . . . afraid my actions could get somebody killed."

Gorman shrugged. "Don't do anything that could get someone killed, then. You have common sense, sweetheart. Use it."

Towers managed a small smile. "Thanks, Gorman." She held out her hand. Gorman took it, and Towers squeezed his hand in both of hers.

After a moment of sitting in silence, Gorman gave Towers a quizzical look. "I feel like there's something you want to tell me."

Towers sighed. "I'm . . . also afraid that . . . I might lose you. You're the first person to really give me a chance and believe I'm capable of succeeding here, and . . . I just don't want to lose you."

"I'm thinking about how hilarious it is that you hated my guts just two weeks ago."

"Well, I don't hate your guts anymore. Not sure if I see you as my best friend, my big brother, or my new uncle."

"I'm your brother-in-arms, that's for sure. We're all brothers and sisters in the Marines."

Towers put her arms around Gorman's neck, hugging him tightly.

Gorman smirked. "I still think it's funny how-"

"Are you going to bring up the past every time I'm nice to you?"

"Does it annoy you?"

"Yes."

"Then as long as you salt my coffee and put crayons in the dryer with my underwear, I will bring up how you hated me when we first met."

* * *

_Question: How might Sevastopol have changed under Waits had the Anesidora not arrived?_


	9. Chapter 9

_2175_

Both Gorman and Valen were knocking on every Marine's door the next morning, shouting and rousing everyone from sleep.

"Towers! Time to get up! Let's go!" Gorman knocked on Towers's door, and waited. "I don't hear you getting up, young lady!" He waited five more seconds, then opened the door. Towers covered her face with the blanket, laughing, as Gorman dragged her out of bed. "That's not funny! We have to be up and ready to go!"

"I am ready to go! I packed my stuff before you came in here!" Towers yelped as Gorman pulled her off the bed. "Gorman, stop!"

He set her upright on the floor. "Get dressed, come down to the mess hall."

"Yes, Gunny."

Of course, Towers didn't have time to mess with Gorman's coffee, or anything else of his. Breakfast went smoothly, aside from Maxie dropping a glass of pulpy orange juice. The mess was quickly cleaned before Gorman herded his Marines down to the armory to grab their gear.

With just about everyone yelling at once, it was a wonder anything got done, especially in the short time there was. Dunewall mumbled to himself while placing weapons in specialized crates. The smartgunners looked over their weapons before placing them in their own crates.

Gorman marched them out to the hangar, where the dropship was waiting to take off. "Does anyone feel like they forgot something? We're not coming back for it." When no one responded in ten seconds, he said, "Alright, put your stuff in the back, sit down, and buckle up! No talking until I say it's OK!"

He was last to board the dropship, and gave the pilots the signal to begin taking off. He sat next to Towers, looking around at the rest of the squad. "Everybody in? Did you make sure your bags were tied down? Yes? Good. Should be a smooth ride." He looked at Towers. "By the way, a flying bag would not be funny; it'd be dangerous."

"I know," Towers said.

"Thank you." Gorman was suddenly yanked back in his seat as the dropship took off.

"Don't hit your head, Gunny. That hurts."

Gorman gave her a dirty look when he could move his head.

"I've hit my head loads of times," Maxie chirped.

"Yes, son. Every single flight. That's why we make you wear a helmet."

* * *

On Gateway, the squad was led to the _McAuliffe_ while Colonel Hardy took Gorman and Valen aside. "How was the flight up?" he asked.

"Smooth sailing," Gorman replied. "Any new developments in terms of the mission?"

"At the moment, no. Any updates will be forwarded to the transport's computer. Read them thoroughly when you come out of hypersleep. We don't need any miscommunications."

"Yes, sir."

"The Netrayas base captain will fill you in on the finer details when you arrive. So far, it sounds like a surveillance mission, but we can't be too careful with facilities like these."

"Understood, sir. Shouldn't be anything new in my book."

Hardy nodded. "Keep it up, Gorman, and you might be the first Vent Rat to become an officer."

"Then I couldn't be a Vent Rat anymore." Gorman smirked.

"Good point. That's all I've got for you. We'll be in contact with you when you arrive at Violet Rose."

Saluting Hardy, Gorman followed Valen down to the airlock leading into the _McAuliffe_. Almost as soon as they entered the ship, the airlock closed behind them. They headed up to the hypersleep chamber, where the others were-

"What in God's name is going on here?!" Valen shouted.

Maxie was struggling to keep a towel around his waist while searching around the lockers. "My clothes are gone!"

"Towers!" Gorman growled.

"It wasn't me!" Towers yelled back, coming out of the showers.

"Don't you dare rat me out," Wade hissed.

"I heard that!" Gorman replied, rolling his eyes. "Give Maxie his clothes. I have told all of you, many times, that you are not to be naked outside the showers!"

"I had no choice, Gunny!" Maxie cried.

"I know. I'm sorry she did that to you."

Wade dropped Maxie's clothes on the bench. "You're no fun, Gorman."

"He's plenty fun," Towers muttered.

"Come on, he's probably still a virgin, even though he's married."

"That's enough! Get your sleepwear on, get in the mess hall. Last meal before cryo. Let's go."

"We still have to shower," Valen muttered.

"Then get in the shower!" Gorman opened his locker, hanging up his gear and removing his sleepwear from his duffel bag. He grabbed his hygiene supplies before jogging into the showers, hoping he didn't find the mess hall in a wreck when he got out.

He gasped and shuddered as he was struck in the face with a hard jet of cold water. Gooseflesh rose all over his skin. Of all the things to expect in Marine life, the icy showers were something he would never get used to. The water would warm up, albeit slowly. It was at that moment Gorman realized it would be over a month until he could talk to Lydia again, even over a satellite. He was suddenly grateful to be alone, and that the water was mixing with his tears.

Everything on the transport seemed so cold. He longed for the warmth of Lydia's embrace.

He remembered the previous summer, just a couple months before they were married, was among the happiest in his life. Sure, there were people watching, but neither of them cared as they sprinted after each other on the beach separating Chicago from Lake Michigan, running into the water and occasionally being splashed by tides.

At night, after changing clothes, they walked out to one of the piers, city lights glowing behind them. The lake was illuminated by the lights and the moon above. The pier was special to them. It was the site of their third date, and first kiss.

Gorman didn't have a bachelor party before his wedding. He and Lydia were both tired of the planning, and the occasional family drama flare-up. Some alone-time would be nice.

They went to that same pier, watching the sunset as they cuddled. "Just think," Gorman whispered, "within forty-eight hours, we'll be in Dublin."

Lydia smiled up at him. "I just loved the way your eyes lit up when we finally got to discuss the honeymoon."

"I was afraid you'd say 'no,' to be honest."

"Why?"

"Well . . . Ireland is in the north, and it's September, and it's usually very cold and rainy."

"But it's something you've always wanted to do."

"Was there someplace you wanted to go?"

"I didn't have anything in mind. I knew since we were serious about dating that you wanted to go to Ireland. Seems perfect."

"I just didn't want to feel like I was controlling everything."

"You weren't, I promise." Lydia kissed Gorman's jawline. "I love you."

"I love you, too, my darling, my lucky shamrock." He kissed the side of her forehead. "_Is breá liom tú_."

Lydia kept grinning. "Are you going to make the locals think you're one of them?"

"Perhaps. Though, I'm going to enjoy spending time with you while we're there. I can put my family history together another time."

"You're making family history by marrying me."

"That's very true." Gorman kissed her again. "Just . . . we're not quite ready for children."

"Not yet. Someday. I hope they have your brain."

"I hope they have your eyes."

He definitely missed the color of her eyes. He missed everything about her.

Gorman was well-aware that he wasn't being very speedy when it came to leaving the shower and getting dressed. He tried to put on a brave face when he entered the mess hall, but when he saw Towers looking at him, he had the feeling that, somehow, she knew what he was feeling. Then she smiled at him.

A part of him wanted to smile back, but he started to wonder if she was smiling to make him feel better, or because she put salt in his water cup. Sitting down, Gorman took a sip of his water, and then spit it back in the cup when he tasted the salt. He glared at Towers, who was still smiling.

"I knew I left you alone too long," he said.

"Blame Valen. He got your tray out for you. The water was too tempting," Towers replied.

"Right. It's Valen's fault you can't control yourself."

Towers gave Gorman a playful shove.

After finishing their last meal for the trip, the Marines headed back to the hypersleep chamber, stripping down to only the essentials. The girls kept their T-shirts on, while the guys were only in their shorts. Maxie made the final adjustments on the cryotubes, then went around to paste vital trackers to everyone. He then lay down in his own tube, placing the trackers on himself. "Cryosleep will initiate in two minutes!" he called.

"Lay still and shut up," Gorman said. "See you in three weeks."

Towers waved to him from her cryotube. "Good night, Gorman."

"Good night. Sweet dreams." Gorman took a breath as the tube began to close over him, and hoped that he really would have sweet dreams. Dreams of Lydia.

* * *

_2135_

Waits did the best he could with trying not to look hungover as he went down to the Marshal Bureau. He was undoubtedly grateful for Lingard's help, but he still felt nauseated and tired. His head seemed to pound as he rode the elevator. He felt like someone was driving a nail between his eyes.

As he entered the Bureau, Waits kept a straight face. None of the other Marshals paid much attention to him. Sterling was sitting cross-legged on a bench, seemingly waiting for something before glancing up at Waits. Hazelton was reading something in a folder.

"Good morning, Waits," Hazelton said, not looking up from the folder.

"'Morning, sir," Waits replied, struggling to resist a groan of pain from the throbbing in his head.

"I need you to go patrol the lower mall, from nine to noon," Hazelton added, still not looking up.

"OK." Waits went over to the coffeemaker, pouring himself a cup. _This should help with my headache. _He sighed, finding comfort in the scent of the hot drink.

He still tried to avoid looking at everyone, afraid that someone would see the hangover in his face. When he headed down to the lower mall, the same place he and Lingard were the night before, he was a little afraid of the grill employees recognizing him. He paced by the place a few times, but no one gave him a second glance.

At least Ransome wouldn't bother him. Hopefully, the hangover would fade long before they encountered each other again.

Around noon, Waits was relieved by Harris, and headed up to the first floor, hoping to find Lingard on her lunch break.

She took a lunch break, right?

_Given that she sometimes doesn't sleep, I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't eat once in awhile. _Well, that was going to change. Waits headed straight to San Cristobal, trying to push past the discomfort of his hangover.

He hated the feeling of being paranoid. He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid Ransome was nearby at all times. Giving a sigh, Waits faced forward. _You can't give him the impression you're scared. _

The transit ride felt longer in a car full of people. Some had gotten seats, while others were standing, holding onto the railing. Waits gave a grunt of frustration as the car rocked, dull aches resonating through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let it show he hurt.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the car stopped at SciMed. Three other people got off with him, and he became aware of the crushing emptiness of the tower. The three other people went off in their own directions, while Waits headed for the hospital, alone.

". . . Have a seat outside. Get some air." Morley left the main entrance of San Cristobal, holding Lingard's shoulders. "Everything's alright. Just sit, and breathe. I'll come back in a few minutes."

Waits's pain and discomfort dissipated almost instantly, and he quickened his pace as Lingard sat on one of the benches. "Doc? Doc, you OK?"

"Do you need something, Marshal?" Morley asked, standing in the doorway with a glass of water.

"Not . . . really. What happened?"

"Well, we had a bit of an accident in surgery. Removed a girl's tonsils, and Lingard . . . accidentally cut her. Lot of bleeding, but we were able to stop it and get her patched up. Gave Lingard quite a shock. I-I wish I could stay and chat, but I've got to get back in, and take care of the other patients." Morley looked Waits in the eye. "Marshal, could you . . . stay and comfort her? You seem close with her anyways."

Waits nodded. "Sure." _I'm good at comforting people, right? _He turned to face Lingard. "Hey."

She glanced at him, but didn't say anything.

Waits struggled to find something helpful to say. He sighed. "I guess the best thing I can say is . . . at least the kid's gonna be OK."

Lingard put her head in her hands, giving a sound like she was going to cry.

"That was the wrong thing to say. OK. Um . . . it was an accident. Like Morley said. I'm sorry it happened. I . . . Come on, you're good what you do, and . . . we all make mistakes. I know this is a job where you don't want to make mistakes, and . . . my job isn't one where you want to make mistakes, either, but . . . shit happens. Yeah, that's the best thing I can say. In life, shit happens. Sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it. Doesn't make you a bad person."

Still, no response.

_Maybe I'm not good at this._ Waits paused to think. He gave another sigh, and pulled Lingard into a hug, not saying a word. She sobbed in his shoulder. A minute passed by before he whispered, "Come on, I know you can pull through this. This can't be the worst thing that's happened in your career. You handled me when I was drunk, so I know you're a tough lady. Besides, if anyone gives you hell over this, you know where to find me. You made a mistake and you were able to fix it. That's what counts." He smirked, lifting her chin. "Look, you know you're sad when _I_ have more faith in you than you do in yourself right now."

"Waits?" Lingard said, sniffing.

"Yes?"

"In what universe is that supposed to be helpful?"

"Honestly, I know I did something right if you're talking to me again. Now, pull my cap. I know you want to. You're feeling better, I can see it."

She sighed. "I should've expected this if _you're_ the one doing the comforting."

"That actually hurt a little."

"I didn't mean it that way. I do appreciate your effort."

Waits gave her a lopsided grin. "So I'm not completely useless."

"No." Lingard tugged the visor of his cap. "Happy now?"

"Are you happy now?"

"Not really."

Waits felt defeated. He looked down at his lap, then regained eye contact with Lingard, letting her see the defeat in his eyes. "Whaddaya want me to do?" _I'm sorry I can't be Mr. Perfect for you. I'm sorry I can't just . . . solve everything like magic._

She took his hand to squeeze it. "Stay."

"And do what?"

"Just stay. You don't have to say anything."

Waits shrugged. "OK. I'll . . . I'll stay, if that's what you want." He turned his hand to squeeze hers back. "And what if Ransome sees this?"

"I don't care. I'd rather have your clumsy comfort than his . . . nothingness." A small smile started to blossom on Lingard's face. "You at least try to fix things, and that's what counts."

"Aw, shucks, you're making me blush." He felt something in his chest. His heart . . . had it just skipped a beat? And was he blushing? He thought about leaning in to kiss her forehead, and positioned himself to do so, then he stopped. _I'd really be digging myself into a deeper hole if someone found out I have feelings for her. Maybe it's best . . . I don't tell anyone how I feel, even Lingard._

* * *

Waits returned to the Marshal Bureau to find it was empty aside from Ricardo and Sterling. They didn't make eye contact with each other, and Waits preferred it that way.

"I feel like it's a little late for the higher-ups to be doing something about this place," Ricardo said, glancing in Waits's direction. "First they send you here, then we have inspection next week-"

"Hold on, son, what does my being sent here have to do with Command 'doing something' about Sevastopol?" Waits gave Ricardo a look.

"I figured if they didn't care all that much, they wouldn't have sent someone of your experience and . . . demeanor."

"No. Someone here at Sevastopol told Command that this station was a bustling cosmopolitan hub. Command was _lied to_. That's why they sent me, because they don't have anyone responsible and honest here to tell them the truth. Hazelton went along with whatever son-of-a-bitch said that Sevastopol was busy. With any luck, he'll get booted back to training when the inspector gets here."

"What makes you think the inspector's going to care?"

"Because that's his fucking job."

"Waits, no one's given much of a damn about Sevastopol thus far. I don't think anyone's going to care now. You're the only one trying to perform CPR on a dead body."

A knot formed in Waits's chest. "There are still people living on Sevastopol. Until the last civvie leaves, we are obliged to serve them as best we can. You're wearing that badge, son, you should've had it drilled into you during basic to give a damn."

"I do give a damn. What I don't do is get pissy with people when things aren't going the way I think they should be going. I also try to respect who's in charge, and in this case, it's Hazelton. If you were in charge, I'd respect you the same way. Plus, I want respect from whoever's left, and that doesn't come from threatening the Seegson executives and swearing in front of children."

Sterling had been quiet the whole time, gaze switching between Waits and Ricardo. He took a sip from a mug of cold coffee, offering nothing to the conversation. He seemed undecided on who he agreed with.

Waits bit his tongue. He first glared at Sterling, but couldn't fault the lanky man for not having an input. He resisted the urge to lash out at Ricardo for not caring, and forced his anger back down his throat. Letting that anger fester in the pit of his stomach made him feel sick, and he felt more alone than he had ever been in his life.

* * *

For the first time since arriving on Sevastopol, Waits had a hard time falling asleep. Despite so many nights where he hadn't been allowed to sleep, here was one where he was free to sleep a full eight hours, and yet he couldn't drift off.

His mind was still active. The hamster refused to get off the wheel, and it would continue to do so until it collapsed. The question was "when?"

He could hear voices of people out in the hall, entering and leaving their apartments. Their muffled voices made it hard for Waits to try and fall asleep. He covered his head with a pillow, but that did nothing to stop his thoughts from running around and around inside his head.

_Maybe I should just tell Lingard how I feel. Just her. No one else. I can trust her. _He let out his breath, and put the pillow back under his head. _No, nobody should know. If pressured, she'd tell Ransome. She's so sweet, but she caves too easily . . . It's not fair that she doesn't know, though. I can't keep this from her. Maybe she feels the same way. If she does, she'd guard it with her life. No amount of pressure would get it out of her._

Even without Ransome's crap, there was always the age-old fear that Lingard didn't have the same feelings. _It's entirely possible we're just friends who are affectionate with one another, and it won't go any further than that. Then again, maybe she's just as afraid as I am of Ransome finding out. Maybe, just maybe, if we both go to Gateway when Sevastopol closes, things will change for the better._

It was definitely a pleasant thought. Waits could be patient. He could wait a few months, if that's what it took. If they were meant to be, it would happen in time.

Adjusting his position in bed, he tried to turn his mind to more pleasant thoughts. They were swiftly crushed by thoughts of his earlier conversation with Ricardo. _What if he's right that the inspector isn't going to care? What if Hazelton stays, and we just . . . languish here until the station closes down? _He closed his eyes, giving a quiet sigh.

_Pleasant thoughts._ Waits tried to steer his mind in another direction. It worked for a little while, then he was sucked back into the vortex of fear and frustration, anger and loneliness. Being in that vortex was exhausting. The hamster finally fell out of the wheel, and Waits tried to embrace the blanket of sleep coming over him.

* * *

_Question: How do Waits's feelings for Lingard parallel Dietrich's feelings for Wierzbowski before she dated Crowe?_

_Author's Note: Translation - "Is breá liom tú" means "I love you" in Irish, though the phrase varies among different dialects._


	10. Chapter 10

_2135_

Waits awoke around three in the morning. He had a restless sleep; he could tell his body was struggling to adapt to such an irregular sleep schedule. Sighing, he sat up and rubbed his face. Every thought from earlier seemed to race back to the forefront of his mind all at once.

"That's it. I'm telling her." Waits got out of bed, throwing some clothes on. He could still feel remnants of sleep sticking to his brain, yet he felt like he wouldn't drift back off if he lay down. Rubbing his eyes, he threw on his jacket before peering out into the hall, hoping Ransome was sound asleep, wherever he was.

He crept down the hall, glancing over his shoulder before knocking on Lingard's door. He had to knock several more times before hearing someone walk over to the door.

Lingard threw open the door. "What do you want, Ran-oh, it's just you, Waits." She covered her face, sighing. "What?"

"I need to tell you something," Waits replied, feeling guilty that he had woken her.

"Can it wait till morning?"

"No. I've been having trouble sleeping over it. I mean . . . if you don't want to talk, that's fine, but-"

Lingard gestured for him to come in. "Alright. Have a seat. What is it?"

His words became stuck. He began to rethink everything he had just thought about a few moments ago. _I can't tell her this. About how I feel. I really can't. Jesus, am I . . . does this make me a coward? _He took a breath. "I'm . . . sorry. I-I know what I was going to say a minute ago, and . . . now I'm not so sure."

Lingard looked at the clock. "Well, I have to be up in two hours anyway. May as well sit here and listen to you. Take your time. Take my time. I don't care. Everyone here can just barge in on my schedule and make it their own."

_Yeah, this really isn't important. I've fucked up. I think that was inevitable. _"I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

"You're sorry? Are you sorry for tonight, or are you sorry for the last three weeks where you've just come and gone into my office whenever you damn well please? Either way, y-you're . . . I want you to stop. Stop visiting me, stop sitting with me in the food court. Just . . . stop."

"Am I allowed to ask why?"

"Because you seem to think that you can just walk into my life and whatever's my business has to be yours too! We're not even . . . that close. Plus, Ransome does the same thing!"

"I'm not Ransome. C-Can I make that any fucking clearer? He's not your boyfriend, and he's not even a friend. He uses you to dig up dirt on people, and he's got dirt on you that he'll unleash if you don't do what he wants. I'm not that. Just yesterday, when you were upset over what happened in surgery, did anyone else have to balls to try and comfort you? Anyone?"

"You just sat there being a smartass."

"At least I sat there at all! You even asked me to just stay. Obviously, something has happened in the last several hours for you to forget that. Am I not trying hard enough? Is that the issue here?"

"Trying hard enough to do what? Be as irritating as you can possibly be?"

"To like you. There. I said it. That's why I woke you up. I'm sorry. It's been bothering me all night, so I had to come and say it now."

Lingard fell silent, staring at him as she tried to process what she heard.

"That's all I wanted to say. I like you. I felt like you should know. I-I know we're both worried about Ransome finding out, but . . . there's a part of me that doesn't care. It's not even a big deal, and if he makes it a big deal, that's his problem, not ours. We both know it's only a matter of time before Sevastopol closes, and then we can go do whatever we want. We talked about this before, relocating to Gateway, living a much better life than we're living now."

"How do I know this isn't going to . . . end horribly? How do I know you're not going to lie to me?"

"Have I ever done so the last three weeks? Think about it; all I've ever done is try to care about you. Hell, yesterday, before I found out about the accident in surgery, I had gone down to the hospital to make sure you were taking a lunch break. I try to make sure you get some sleep. I've tried to just . . . be a real friend to you, because I know what it's like to have no one. The only other person you trust is millions of miles away, and your relationship with them is a little strained. Everywhere you go, something about you turns everyone away. No matter how hard you try, they won't give you a fucking chance. So you quit, and push everyone away, because you think you don't need anyone, and that's just not true. Loneliness . . . just . . . eats away at you like the bitch it is. You just want one person to care, and sometimes you wonder why that's the hardest thing in the universe to get."

"It is the hardest thing in the universe to get. Yet he's sitting right across from me." Tears began streaming down Lingard's face, and she put her arms around Waits's neck. "I'm sorry."

"I think you've been living in fear for too long. No more, OK? I don't want you to be scared anymore. I mean, that is part of my job, making sure no one has to live in fear of anything. I promise, I swear on my life, I swear on my mother's Bible and my father's grave that I will make sure you never have to be worried about losing your job or your reputation. I know I'm not in a good position now, but, if Hazelton gets thrown out when the inspector arrives, I will do whatever I can to deal with Ransome. No more cutting corners, no more blackmailing. I don't want you to feel like you have to sleep with him to get something you need. I don't know how long it'll take, but this will be fixed."

Tightening her grip on Waits, Lingard kissed his cheek. "Thank you. I just want this to end."

"It will end. I've already got a few things in mind. When Hazelton gets removed, and if I'm put in charge, the first thing we're going to do is tell Morley."

"Why?"

"I have a gut feeling we can trust him. Plus, we need other people to know. Maybe he's seen things. Maybe he's been blackmailed himself. Either way, we need people on our side. I think we can trust him."

"I'm supposed to put my faith in a gut feeling you have?"

"Yeah. Frankly, my gut's never been wrong. Aside from the time I went to this awful, awful diner at a town outside New Holland on LV-510. That's why my philosophy is 'always trust your gut, unless it's empty.'"

Lingard made a face. "I'm guessing you had food poisoning?"

"No. Just . . . they didn't drain the grease from half the shit on my plate. And to make it a bit worse, I made sure the chicken was hot, as in spicy. Thought I could handle it, and I really couldn't. I didn't get a wink of sleep that night."

"Neither of us have gotten any winks of sleep tonight, that's for sure."

Waits nodded. "I really am sorry about . . . waking you. I know I told you before that most of my experiences with meeting women haven't been the greatest, so I'm not . . . I'm no charmer. I'm crude, rude, and brutally honest. The fact that you're OK with it kinda made me like you more. I didn't feel like I had to overhaul myself just to make you happy."

"Well, I guess I should come out and say that it didn't exactly go unnoticed that you turn to mush every time you're in my office." Lingard smiled. "I hear some of the other residents talk about how you're stiff and angry and unpleasant to be around, oh, but when you sit across from me at my desk, your icy heart melts and you become a big softie."

"Gee, a few minutes ago, you were mad about me going in your office."

"It's three in the morning, and I was feeling . . . all sorts of things at once. I'm sorry for getting upset with you. You really haven't done anything wrong, Waits. Honestly, I . . . haven't had much luck with any sort of relationship, and I was afraid that . . . you'd be no different than Ransome or my . . ." Lingard paused, looking down at her lap, then looking back at Waits, "two ex-husbands."

"Two? Jesus Christmas, what happened?"

"Nothing really worked out. I'm not ready to tell the full story, and I don't think we have time for me to go through both of them."

"And you never had children with either?"

Lingard fell silent again. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard. "I miscarried."

"I'm sorry. Honest to God, I . . . I'm so sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry for even asking."

"It's been well over ten years. I've mostly gotten over it, but I have moments where I wonder what could've been if I hadn't had that miscarriage. Would I have a little boy or little girl trailing me around the station? Would I even be sent here if I had a child? Would my first husband have stayed loyal to me if that hadn't happened?"

"If he was truly loyal to you, he wouldn't have left you after you miscarried. That was a shit move on his part."

Lingard nodded. "You're right, Waits."

"You didn't tell Ransome about this, did you?"

Again, Lingard looked down.

"Oh my God, you did."

"This was before I knew what he was doing. I know he . . . he treats people like crap, but when I told him what happened, I saw . . . genuine sorrow in his eyes."

"But you're well aware he can use this against you."

"I think even he would consider that too far."

"You're sure about that?"

"I've been around him a lot longer than you have. He has his limits. Doesn't make him an angel, but he has his boundaries. I really do think he'd be less of a pain if Sevastopol wasn't in such bad condition."

"Regardless, he's going to spend a few years in jail for everything he's done, and I'm going to make sure of that. If he does use your past against you, God help me, I'll break every bone in his body and leave him for the medics to deal with."

"I don't think that'll happen, but I won't stop you if it came to it." Lingard drew her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. "I do know that it's a little too late to have what I wanted ten years ago."

"Kids?"

She nodded.

"It's a little late for me, too. Hopefully, in a few years, I'll be closer to home and able to see my nephew have kids. I don't think it's too late to fix my relationships with my own family. Hell, maybe my brother-in-law would be less an of ass toward me if you were around, because you're a calming presence. You're probably one of the most gentle doctors I've ever had to work with. I mean, you didn't give me a hard time when I said I didn't want to piss in the cup in front of you."

"I'm gentle with all my patients unless the situation calls for something else. That's how I've always been."

The conversation had trailed off. The clock marked three-thirty. Waits ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "You know, this . . . this is one of the things I've wanted in a woman. Being willing to be up at an ungodly hour to just talk."

"All I ask is that you don't take advantage of my generosity in that department. Besides, you're the one who fusses about how much sleep I get."

"That's right. I know I already did, but, again, I'm sorry for waking you up."

"No, it's OK. I was . . . tossing and turning anyway."

"Something on your mind?"

"Well . . ." Lingard paused, then looked Waits in the eye. "You."

"You were thinking about me."

"Yes. I guess, since you've already said it, I should say it as well; I like you, too. I didn't know how to say it, when to say it, or even if I should, because even though I had the feeling you felt the same way, I was afraid . . . maybe you were just playing around, or teasing."

Waits snorted. "Teasing. I am so far past the age of teasing, it's not even funny. Well . . . maybe a little bit, out of boredom. I know if Ransome wasn't an issue, I'd . . . I'd be leaving you presents from 'a secret admirer.' I'd mess with you, just a little."

"Did you do this in any of your previous relationships?"

"No. Because I never felt the way I do with you with any of them."

"Dammit, Waits, now you're making me blush."

Waits kissed Lingard's forehead. "That help?"

"Not really. You just made it worse."

"Then I should do it again."

"You should go back to bed. I think we've said all we need to say in order to get some sleep for the next two hours."

"Have we? How 'bout one more-" Waits was silenced by Lingard swatting him with a pillow. "You're lucky I'm off-duty. That's an assault against a Marshal."

"Yeah. Because you could arrest me." Lingard grinned, and kissed Waits's cheek. "Back to bed with you. Good night, Waits."

* * *

As life began to stir on Sevastopol that morning, Waits felt rejuvenated. He felt like he could take on the day, and didn't seem to care that he looked happy for once in front of other people.

It actually scared the other Marshals. Waits? Happy? Impossible. Even Hazelton gave Waits a confused look at the coffee machine. "Is . . . everything alright?"

"Everything is just perfect," Waits replied. "Why?"

"You seem . . . a bit peppier, that's all. Usually, you're not."

Waits wasn't about to reveal his big secret. "I had a full eight hours of sleep."

"Because you didn't threaten to urinate in my breakfast yesterday, so I didn't have to give you night duty. I'm actually proud of you."

Hazelton turned his back, and Waits flipped him off. "Go fuck yourself," he mouthed.

The others breathed a heavy sigh of relief upon seeing Waits's more typical behavior.

There were three days until the Marshal inspector would arrive, and Waits was delighted to recognize the name of the inspector on Hazelton's desk. A recruit he mentored twenty-five years ago, and had served together onboard the British colonial transport _Burgoyne_ when it was hijacked by pirates. Sammy Jarendeno. _Today just can't get better, can it? I can trust Jarendeno. He won't put up with Hazelton's or Ransome's bullshit, because I taught him._

Waits headed down to the food court with an intense feeling of hope, that things were going to right themselves real soon. He didn't hesitate to sneak up behind Lingard at one of the tables, and grab her shoulders. "Gotcha!"

"Hey! What is wrong with you?" Lingard whirled around to give him a dirty look.

"Good morning. How'd you sleep last night?"

"You're kidding, right? Seriously, Waits, you can't act like this in public."

"I've got good news. I saw the name of the inspector. It's someone I mentored a long, long time ago. I know the guy, I trust him. I think we'll have a case against Ransome rolling by the end of the week."

Lingard smiled. "Jesus, that's great, Waits!" She stood up to hug him. "You're a lifesaver. I can't thank you enough."

"I know the guy is usually supposed to pay for dinner, but just this once, you pay as a thank-you." Waits lowered his voice to a whisper, lips almost touching Lingard's ear. "We'll meet at that grill we went to a couple nights ago. Sound good?"

"Sounds good. I'm not paying for your drinks, though."

"Fair enough."

They let go of each other. Waits realized that they both just made a risky move, hugging in public. A part of him didn't care, yet he also knew there was a chance the inspection wouldn't go the way he was hoping it would go. He wasn't just afraid of what Ransome could do. He was afraid of letting Lingard down, of failing to do what he promised. _Once you make a promise like that, you can't go back on it. What am I gonna do if everything backfires? Is it my fault if it does? Does that depend on what happens? _

After breakfast, Waits disappeared from the mall. He noticed the Spaceflight Terminals were practically deserted. No one was walking through, aside from him. He looked out the expansive windows to see the swirls of white and orange and bronze that covered nearby KG-348. Beyond that was the system's star, providing the only natural light to Sevastopol.

Waits had been on several orbital stations before. Sevastopol was one of the loneliest. Even a loner like him couldn't handle the emptiness. It could be worse, though, like the time he had been stuck on a processing and maintenance station over a battle between Marines and a hostile species. The station had been evacuated. Waits was left behind. He went back to search every crevice of the station to make sure every civvie got out. There was no time to wait for him.

The evacuated Marshals knew he was alive. The Marines wouldn't let them travel back because of the risk a hostile ship would attack. So he had to wait for rescue by the Marines.

Waits was stranded for over a week, completely alone. There was plenty of food and water on the station, so he didn't have to worry about surviving. He just had to worry about his mind.

He was jolted from his thoughts when he noticed someone else's reflection approaching him from behind.

"Marshal," Morley said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He fell silent as he searched for his lighter, then slid the pack away as he flipped the lighter on. "Care for a smoke?"

"Sure. Thanks." Waits took the offered cigarette. "What the hell're you doing all the way out here in the terminals, Doc?"

Morley held out his lighter. "Some peace and quiet. It's a little . . . creepy when the hospital's quiet, so I make the trip out here. The Spaceflight Terminals at least symbolize that there's life beyond Sevastopol."

"True. Makes things feel a little less empty."

Morley nodded, taking his cigarette out of his mouth. He was quiet for a moment, then glanced at Waits. "I've noticed you and Lingard . . . what's the right word . . . you've been getting closer the last few days."

"You could say that." Waits exhaled.

"She's been a bit depressed for awhile. Really plunged into her work and purposefully doesn't make time for anything. It's nice to see her light up whenever you're around, or even just mentioned."

Waits paused. "Really?"

"Yes. You should see her eyes when someone just casually mentions they saw you, or when you send a message saying you're coming to San Cristobal. She seems so worn out all the time, and . . . it's just nice to see you make her happy."

"Well, she makes me happy, too." Waits looked over his shoulder. "In fact . . . last night, we . . . kinda talked about that, and ended up saying that-" he lowered his voice, "we like each other."

Morley smiled. "Your secret's safe with me. She never looked so happy whenever Ransome dropped by."

"You knew about them being 'together?'"

Now Morley lowered his voice. "There's a lot I know about their 'relationship,' Marshal. I went into the hospital one morning and found one of the computers had been locked. Had to find a device to reopen it. What do I find? Messages from Ransome to Lingard about getting medical records on people he . . . isn't fond of. Common sense would tell you he wants things to use as blackmail, all while threatening Lingard in the process. She hasn't said a word to me about it, and I can understand why."

"She's told me about that. I promised I'd do something about it if Hazelton gets kicked out and I'm put in his place."

"Hazelton being chosen to lead the Marshals here was definitely an odd choice. He had just been sent here after completing training. We had others who had much more experience, but, of course, the ones with more experience would be a threat to Ransome. Can't have that, can you?"

"So he tricked Command into putting Hazelton in charge so he could groom him."

Morley nodded.

"Son-of-a-bitch."

"He will fuck with the inspection coming up. That's for sure."

"Well, I know the guy they're sending. Hoping that's a good thing."

"For your sake, I hope so, too." Morley gazed out the window. "And we're all hoping the station is decommissioned quickly."

Waits nodded. "I can't really handle hypersleep anymore. Here to Gateway should be my last trip I'll ever have to do."

"Everyone's talking about moving to Gateway. Well, almost everyone. Lingard has, I have. Not really sure what Kuhlman's doing. He's . . . been really upset about being here, but we can't find another psychologist to come out here, so he has to stay."

"That's a shame."

"It is. I've actually been trying to take in some of his patients myself, even though I'm only a general practitioner. All depends on whether my schedule will allow it or not." Morley blew out a breath of smoke. "Some of them don't really need the pills. They just need someone to talk to. We all do."

"How about you, Doc? You need someone to talk to?"

"I've been doing alright. I write. I leave the hospital when I can."

"I gotta ask, where the hell did you get these cigarettes? They're way too good to be the cheap shit in the mall."

"Traveling merchants. Different ships come every few months. They don't care about the re-routes that have hurt Sevastopol; they know they can still do a fair amount of business here. One of them I'm friends with. He's the one with the good smokes and candy and other little things that remind people of home."

"He's not selling dirty magazines, is he?"

"No, not at all."

"Guns?"

"Ammunition, but no actual weapons. I think his next scheduled stop here is the week after the inspection. Feel free to stop by when he comes. He's always happy to have new customers."

"I'll give it some thought. I know my job will be to check his license when he comes by. Had a lot of funny experiences with space merchants."

"I can promise you he's honest and doesn't have any contraband. I wouldn't give him too hard a time."

"For you, I'll be nice." Waits grinned a little. "But not too nice."

"I appreciate it." Morley returned the smile. "Perhaps we should go to one of the bars and talk over drinks some night."

"Well, we can't do it tonight. Got a . . . a meeting with Lingard."

There was a twinkle in Morley's eye. His smile widened. "A date?"

"I guess we can call it a date."

"Where are you meeting her?"

"The grill downstairs."

"Then it's definitely a date."

"She's paying, though. She wanted to know how to thank me for being on her side when it comes to Ransome, and I said, 'Pay for dinner tonight.'"

"Still a date." Morley laughed. "Come on, Waits, even on a dismal little place like this, there's hope, there's happiness, there's love. Embrace it. _Live_ your life to its fullest. You have a shot at happiness and love. _Grab it_. Grab it and don't let go."

* * *

_Question: How could Waits and Lingard's relationship be affected by having to hide it from Ransome?_


	11. Chapter 11

_2135_

Waits struggled to think of a way to thank Morley. He didn't ask Morley to distract Ransome in case he started wondering where Lingard was, and he knew that would be a big help in the long run.

Or at least, the rest of the week. Once Jarendeno completed his inspection and removed Hazelton, Waits would be free to put Ransome in his place.

He hoped.

Waits wasn't sure he needed to impress Lingard. Morley suggested bringing a gift. Did he really need to bring a gift?

He decided to do it just to see Lingard's reaction. Waits had never been much of a gift-giver, especially with previous relationships. _What's the best thing to give a lady?_ He stared down the aisles of assorted items in a store on the first floor of the mall. He couldn't find flowers (a typical gift and simple enough, right?), or fancy chocolates. So he settled on a bag of chocolate chips and a plastic desk flower. Good enough.

Neither of them dressed up. They sat at the same booth they did just a few nights before, and Waits set a bag on the table. "Here. I . . . got you something."

Lingard smiled at him. "Aww, you didn't have to-" she looked inside, and shook her head, still grinning. "Well, Christmas and Valentine's are going to be really interesting with you around."

"Are they bad ideas?"

"No, not at all. The flower's cute. Having some color on the desk would be nice. And I can . . . find a use for the chocolate chips."

"Find a use?" Waits snorted. "I know one; eat them. I mean, that's what I would do."

"Somehow, it's very easy to picture you tearing open the bag and dumping the whole thing in your mouth."

"If it came down to it, I would."

Lingard put the chocolate chips back in the bag before setting it next to her. "If I knew you were going to bring gifts, I'd have brought something for you."

"Nah, you're paying for dinner. I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, the gift thing was Morley's idea."

Lingard frowned. "You told him?"

"Little bit. He was telling me how your eyes seem to light up whenever I'm talked about, how . . . you haven't been happy for awhile, and he's glad to see there's something that makes you happy."

"Ah. So, he kinda already knew."

"He also said he knows about you and Ransome, and has known about it for some time. Said he found a bunch of messages on a computer he had to unlock. He's got a pretty good idea of why you didn't tell him, or anybody for that matter."

"At least we know we can trust him."

"Yeah." Waits looked around, his gaze lingering on each photo from Earth covering the walls. "Why don't we talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like . . . well, you mentioned Christmas, so . . . what exactly are holidays like out here?"

"Almost the same as every other day. Morley decorates some of the offices and then dresses up like Santa for the kids in the hospital. There are some isolated little parties, but for the most part, everyone still goes about their day. Some take the day off, and it makes the halls a lot more quiet with everyone in their apartments. It's mainly those with kids who try to make the day more special, even more so when they can't go home."

"I can imagine holidays feel more like chores to those with young kids."

"Yeah. I've seen families at their best, and their worst. I've seen them happy and unable to be separated, and I've seen them broken. I've seen people completely destroy themselves to better their families. I've seen people destroy their own families for one reason or another."

"Seen the good and the bad and everything in between," Waits added. "Given our jobs, I know we've both seen the ugly."

Lingard nodded.

"I guess if you don't have a family of your own, it's a . . . almost a lesson in what not to do, how not to treat those you claim to love."

"I think you're right."

The same waiter with the dirty apron who had served them last time strolled over. "Good evening! Fancy seeing you two again." He grinned and lowered his voice. "Date night?"

Waits opened his mouth to tell the waiter it was none of his business, but Lingard spoke up first. "Just two friends having dinner together," she said.

"Right." The waiter continued to smile. "What would you like to drink?"

"We'll both have water."

Waits glared at Lingard. "I was gonna have-"

"After you eat. Do you want to show up at the Bureau hungover again?"

"No."

"Then you're going to eat something, and then you can have a beer."

"Fine." Waits looked over at the photographs on the wall, then back at Lingard. "When we move to Gateway, I should take you down to Massachusetts for a few days. I'm not much of a cook, but my sister can do a damn good New England clam chowder. Rich, thick, and hearty for the long fucking winters we have. I haven't had it in years. She'll give you the recipe if you're real nice to her."

"I think your sister's the only person you've really spoken highly of."

"I have photos in my apartment. I'll show you someday. Esmeralda was . . . my best friend. I'm older than her by two years. She was told by everyone that she's the perfect combination of her mom and dad. Mom's blonde hair. Dad's sea-green eyes. Her intelligence. His willingness to get his hands dirty. Everything. I was . . . mostly Dad. I've got Mom's eyes, though. Amber. Anyway, Em was the one everyone loved and wanted to be around, and she loved everyone and wanted to be around everyone. I was always pretty protective of her, but . . . I knew when she found someone who could do the same, I had to let her go. I had to pass that role onto her boyfriend. Even though I wanted to still be . . . around, I couldn't. I had a new life ahead of me. I'm just hoping it's not too late for me to fix things and . . . be around more often."

"I don't think it's too late. And it wouldn't be your fault if your family doesn't want you around anymore. Shame on them."

"I wouldn't go defending me too quickly. I'm not exactly . . . a fucking ray of sunshine that farts rainbows. I mean, I'd never hurt anyone, physically, if they haven't earned it. I don't go looking for fights, no matter how many times people say I'm the kind of person that'll beat the shit outta you as soon as shake your hand. That's just . . . not me. Anyways, I'm still not . . . a super nice person."

"I think people don't always give you a chance, and that you've let their perception of you get to your head."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm being honest."

"Well, if I was in a terrible situation, I'd want you on my side. I've learned that . . . sometimes I can be a little too nice for my own good. Having a tough guy with common sense and the ability to stop and really think about things would be good."

"So, you're saying we balance each other out in some ways."

"I guess I am."

"You're the nice lady. I'm the mean son-of-a-bitch."

"You're the fighter. I'm the healer."

"You're the beauty. I'm the brawn-somewhat."

"You're the first person to tell me I'm beautiful."

"You're the first person to tell me I mean something."

There was a brief moment of quiet, then Lingard glanced at Waits. "I don't think I ever told you my first name."

"I've seen your first initial on your paperwork."

"I should probably tell you, if we're going to be close friends, and you already told me yours when we met. It's Kalea."

"Kalea. Sounds as pretty as its bearer."

"It's Hawaiian. Means 'sky' or 'heaven,' I think."

"Are you from Hawaii?"

"Born and raised."

"Why the hell would you leave a paradise like that for space?"

"Travel. Why would you leave a picturesque little place like Massachusetts for space?"

"Good point. Sorry."

The waiter returned with two glasses of water and the complimentary basket of biscuits. The conversation had run dry again, and Waits struggled to find something else to discuss. His appetite took priority when he grabbed one of the biscuits from the basket. It was still warm, and didn't look or feel like it had been pulled from a ration pack. "I hope this place doesn't close before we leave Sevastopol," he said.

"That'll be a real sad day for you. I'm glad you enjoy it here," Lingard replied. She watched him eat, and watched him take another one while his first was still in his mouth. As Waits placed a pad of butter in the biscuit, Lingard reached across the table to tug on his cap. "You really want that beer, don't you?"

"I do. And I also remember you're not paying for them."

"True." Lingard glanced around the small restaurant, also struggling to find something else to talk about.

Waits could tell from the look on her face that her thoughts had changed. She was thinking about something significantly less happy than their . . . outing. She looked overwhelmed. "Everything OK over there?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You look like . . . something hit you hard just now."

"I'm sorry, Waits. I . . . can't find anything else to talk about and . . . I just started thinking about everything that's happening all at once."

"It's OK that we can't find anything else to talk about. I kinda . . . kinda saw the look on your face that you . . . you started thinking about stuff. You tell me what's going on."

"I know you said we should talk about something other than Ransome, but . . . I'm just afraid of what could happen if he finds out about us."

"I never said we _should_ talk about something else, but if that's what you're afraid of, then talk about it. Like I said last night, I don't want you to be afraid anymore. Are you . . . thinking we shouldn't see each other?"

"No. I think . . . that'd be cowardly. It would send him a signal that he's won. Plus . . . I want to see you. You do make me happy, and I don't want to give that up."

"Makes sense to me. I don't want to stop seeing you, either." Waits found himself blushing, and looked down at the table.

Lingard moved the biscuits and her water aside to lean over the table and kiss Waits's cheek. "I think I'm the only person to be able to see the mean son-of-a-bitch at his most sensitive."

"You might be. Just don't say that out loud."

* * *

They left the restaurant an hour later, hand-in-hand, and walked the length of the nearly empty mall. Waits had become aware of another feeling stirring in his chest; the desire to protect. His tightened his grip on Lingard's hand, massaging it with his thumb. Their walk slowed when they approached the stairs, and Waits turned to face Lingard, still holding her hand. "I'm gonna guess you're going back to the hospital."

She nodded. "I'm not sure how well Morley was able to distract Ransome, but I don't want to take the chance of him seeing us. Again."

"OK. So . . . I guess this is where we say 'good night.'"

"Yeah."

Silence abruptly surrounded them. A Seegson ad played on the loudspeaker, echoing in the vast empty space. Lingard placed the plastic bag of gifts on the floor, then stood on her toes to hug Waits, squeezing him tightly. Waits hugged her back, and nuzzled her forehead. "Good night, sweetheart," he whispered.

"Good night, Waits."

Neither of them wanted to let go. Waits kissed Lingard's cheek. "Take care of yourself, OK? Don't worry me to the point where I have to go down to San Cristobal at two in the fucking morning to carry you to bed. Can you do that?"

Lingard nodded. "I promise."

"Thanks." He kissed her again. She kissed him, and they stood with their foreheads pressed against each other. Waits found it difficult to let go. Why end this moment now?

They were that close and it felt evitable. Passion flooded through Waits as his lips made contact with hers. Dormant emotions came to life, and they felt . . . good. Pleasant. _Where have you been all my life? _Waits thought, referring to both Lingard and the intense feelings pulsing through his veins.

It was also inevitable that they would pull apart to breathe. Silence fell over them like a heavy blanket, interrupted only by the voice of the loudspeaker.

The silence was broken by Waits's sigh. "Alright, well . . . I guess we should go our separate ways, or else we'll never actually go."

"Yeah." Lingard let her arms fall to her sides, then she picked up her bag. "We'll see each other tomorrow?"

"Sure. I'll buy your coffee." Waits smiled. "Have a good night, sweetheart."

"You, too, Waits." Lingard returned the smile.

They separated, and Lingard headed to the transit station, while Waits headed to the elevator. Silence returned, and felt much heavier. Waits stepped into the elevator, still feeling Lingard's hug around his body, and her kiss on his lips. He felt alone again, despite the warmth still clinging to him. The warmth would eventually fade, though, and Waits was conscious of that as the elevator slowed to stop at his floor.

* * *

Waits would never let anyone see his anxiety about the inspection. Jarendeno's vessel wasn't too far off from Sevastopol. According to Hazelton, they'd be docking sometime in the afternoon.

In the few days that had passed since he and Lingard came to realize they were more than friends, Waits had heard nothing from Ransome. Then again, that didn't mean Ransome wasn't working in secret.

The morning of the inspection, though, things changed. Ransome popped up everywhere like a gopher, and Waits struggled to keep his thoughts to himself when Ransome barged into the Marshal Bureau. Hazelton looked a little hesitant to have Ransome and Waits in the same room together, lest they try to kill each other. A better head Marshal would've made Ransome leave; instead, Hazelton gestured for Waits to pick up his stuff and go.

Waits wouldn't leave without flipping the bird to Ransome, who simply shook his head at Waits's behavior.

Not feeling like he could eat with his nerves, Waits made the journey to San Cristobal. He found Morley and Lingard sitting in the reception room, holding cups of coffee. Two plastic bowls of oatmeal were on the table in front of them. Morley's was a red-streaked mess of dried strawberries and raspberries, which were gradually regaining moisture from the hot water and milk. Lingard's was bland, aside from a half-hearted sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg.

"You two aren't waiting for anyone important, are you?" Waits asked.

"Not at the moment," Morley replied. "Just taking advantage of the quiet and having some breakfast. Did you have anything, Marshal? There's still some mix and water if you'd like some."

"Sure. I'll probably be a little less cranky if I eat something before the inspection." Waits sat across from Lingard, watching Morley stand and head to the doctors' break room. "Hazelton said that Jarendeno's ship will be docking sometime past noon. This is it. Hopefully, we'll . . . we'll start seeing some changes."

"Are you nervous?" Lingard asked.

"Ah . . . yeah. I don't like admitting things like that to people, but, you're special, so, yeah. I'm nervous."

Morley returned with a cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal. "There's fruit in the break room, if you'd like some flavor." He sat down. "Inspection's today, huh?"

"Today, or tomorrow. Ransome waltzed into the Bureau not that long ago, and Hazelton kicked me out instead of him. I have a feeling he's going to be a real pain-in-the-ass for the next day or so."

"What else is new?" Lingard muttered.

"I helped train Jarendeno. I mean, we haven't seen each other in almost twenty years, and I know a lot can change, but . . . I hope he hasn't changed too much."

"I guess this partially hinges on the fact that you're not sure what has changed with your old friend," Morley said. "I can imagine it would hurt badly if he changed for the worse. Inspectors never like to give bad reports, but it looks equally terrible if they give a flawless report for the sake of giving a flawless report."

"When was the last time San Cristobal had an inspection?" Lingard asked.

"Two years." Morley gestured to Lingard. "We tend to do the inspecting now. We've got no choice."

"Yeah. There's only so much Ransome will give when he feels like being generous."

Waits snorted. "Maybe Morley should start doing favors for him as well."

"Not even if my life depended on it." Morley took a sip of his coffee.

"Don't jinx it. The longer we're out here, the more likely it is that'll happen."

"Right. Sorry." Things fell silent for a moment, then Morley looked at both Lingard and Waits. "And there's absolutely nothing we can do to . . . 'help' this inspection?"

"That'd be about as illegal as everything Ransome's done," Waits replied. "Whether it goes good or bad, just . . . let it happen the way it's going to happen. There's nothing we can do, period. All I can do is watch my mouth, no matter how hard or painful that might be."

"Perhaps you could use a breathing exercise to calm your nerves beforehand."

"I've done those. They don't work for me. And it's too damn early for a drink."

"I don't think we want Waits drinking during an inspection," Lingard said.

"Maybe you should be there, sweetheart. You do turn me to mush when you're around."

"I have work."

"Maybe this'll convince you-Morley, go sit over there-" Waits got up, and sat next to Lingard, hugging her tightly.

"What makes you think this is going to work?"

"I don't know."

"He's trying to win you over with a tight embrace, a good snuggle," Morley said.

"Well, it's not working. Waits, let go. I'm not going to be at the inspection. Sorry."

"I know. I just wanted to hug you." Waits kissed Lingard's cheek, before letting go and returning to his coffee.

Lingard yanked on his cap. "You're . . . just, something else, Waits. Eat your breakfast."

Morley formed his thumbs and forefingers into the shape of a heart, and held it up to encompass Waits and Lingard. "There's our two lovebirds."

"We're not 'lovebirds,'" Waits said, blushing.

Lingard gave him a look. "After last night, you can't say that."

Waits gave Morley a dirty look when he saw the doctor's eyes and smile widen. "You repeat anything to anyone and I'll-"

"Waits." Lingard glared at him. "Just tell him."

"Fine." Waits bit his lip. "We . . . We kissed."

"I knew it'd happen eventually," Morley said, dipping his spoon in his oatmeal. "Love truly is magical, isn't it?"

"If it's so fucking magical, why don't you have your own girl?"

"Because I'm still looking for my special someone. That special someone just hasn't come along yet."

"Well, I hope she comes along soon so you can avoid being a third wheel to us." Waits looked up at a clock, and rubbed his face. "Few more hours. What the hell should I do till then?"

"Finish your breakfast, for starters. The more fuel in the tank, the better. And perhaps some tea will help your nerves."

"How much tea do we have left?" Lingard asked. "I try to save those for patients."

"Feistel will be here next week with plenty more tea. I'll buy the next stock. Please, Waits is technically a patient. He can have some tea."

Waits spoke up. "I'll pass. If I have both coffee and tea back-to-back, I'll be needing to piss all morning."

"I insist, it'll help you feel better."

Sighing, Waits looked down at his boots. "Alright. I'll have the tea. But, can I talk to Lingard for a minute? _Alone?_"

Morley nodded, and disappeared into the break room.

"You know he's trying to be nice, right?" Lingard asked.

"I-I know. I'm not . . . mad at him. I'm just . . ." Waits covered his face, letting out his breath. "If this inspection goes . . . in a way we're not planning, I'm . . . I'm hoping you don't see me as a failure. I know I've made a promise to you, and now I'm wondering if it's even possible to keep something like this a promise when I don't even-"

"You won't be a failure if the inspection goes wrong. I can't blame you for something you can't control. We'll still be friends-"

"Lovebirds."

"-No matter what." Lingard smiled at him, then hugged him. "Either way, I think everything's going to be OK. As long as I've got you."

"That was very sappy, and you know it."

"I do. I said it anyway." She tugged his cap. "Good luck."

* * *

_Question: Would Waits have been more pleasant for Amanda Ripley to deal with if Lingard had sheltered with the Marshals after the Xenomorph outbreak?_


	12. Chapter 12

_2135_

Marshal Jarendeno was a middle-aged man with thick blond hair that was beginning to thin at the temples. He was trailed by two other Marshals, both carrying briefcases. He didn't smile upon seeing Hazelton, but he still treated him with respect, greeting him with a firm handshake. His gaze then settled on Waits, and a smile bloomed across his face.

Waits didn't hesitate to break out a smile of his own and walk toward Jarendeno with his arms open. "You little son-of-a-bitch! How've you been?"

Jarendeno gave Waits a rough handshake before hugging him. "I've been doing great! Married about five years ago, have a four-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter now. And you-" he looked at Waits's left hand, "haven't married yet."

"Still looking for the perfect woman." Waits's mind immediately drifted to Lingard. _I have her. I just can't really tell anyone yet._

"Well, you're a real prize for whoever wants you." Jarendeno laughed. "We can talk later. After all, this isn't a social occasion."

"Neither was the fucking _Burgoyne_ incident, but we bonded plenty over that."

Hazelton cleared his throat. "Marshal Jarendeno, if you would . . . please accompany us to the Bureau."

As they rode the elevator up to the Bureau, Waits could feel his stomach turning with anxiety and anticipation. He took a deep breath, and struggled to maintain his composure.

"Everything alright?" Jarendeno asked.

"Yeah. Just . . . uh . . . little heartburn, that's all," Waits replied.

The elevator stopped, letting the Marshals off at the Bureau. Waits could only hope Jarendeno was displeased at the state of the armory. He kept silent, though, not wanting to start a fire he couldn't put out.

The turning feeling in his stomach quickly turned to a tight, hard knot when Waits saw Ransome standing outside the doors of the Bureau. However, Ransome was as polite as could be when approaching Jarendeno.

"Marshal," Ransome stuck out his hand. "I'm Ben Ransome, senior Seegson executive of Sevastopol."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Jarendeno replied. "Is there something you need? This inspection is strictly the business of the Colonial Marshals."

"If you need any civilian reports on the Marshals, I have some. Perhaps, in private, we . . . we should discuss Waits."

Jarendeno frowned. "I don't take civilian reports lightly. Please, let's have a seat and talk."

_No!_ The knot in Waits's stomach tightened harder. _Jarendeno, don't listen to him!_

The group stepped into the Bureau. Hazelton poured coffee for everyone, and sat behind his desk. Waits was beginning to feel a nausea similar to when he was suffering from post-cryo sickness. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe sweat from his forehead.

Ransome handed a file folder to Jarendeno. "These incidents are relatively minor, but I think they're worth looking at, sir."

Jarendeno opened the folder. Waits could see its contents from where he was sitting. _Son-of-a-bitch is trying to get me kicked off Sevastopol!_

"Most of this doesn't surprise me in the slightest," Jarendeno said. "'Use of foul language in front of a child.' Sounds like Waits. 'Unprofessional demeanor in the presence of civilians. Rude and unpleasant to handle.' Again, that's . . . that's Waits." Jarendeno paused, and frowned. "'Has been seen kissing and intimately touching one of the San Cristobal doctors.'"

Waits swallowed hard. He couldn't describe what he was feeling in the pit of his stomach at that moment. The knots seemed to be multiplying and tightening simultaneously.

Jarendeno looked at Waits. "Two things. One, is this true?"

Waits didn't know how to answer. Saying "yes" in front of Ransome would destroy what he had with Lingard. "No. It's not true."

"Where did you dig this up?" Jarendeno turned back to Ransome.

"I saw it myself a few weeks ago," Ransome replied.

"Are you the only witness?"

"You could ask Doctor Lingard herself. She was the one Waits was kissing."

"I did not kiss her," Waits said. "I was escorting her to her apartment one night, and she gave me a simple hug and kiss on the cheek. We're friends, that's all."

"Alright. I've heard both sides, and I will be talking to Doctor Lingard later today to get her perspective." Jarendeno went back to the folder. "Unless I hear something damning about this kissing incident, nothing in here is worthy of further investigation. I know Waits, and I know he can be difficult to deal with, but Sevastopol is lucky to have him on the Marshal staff. I've been in serious crises with him, and I know how well he can manage under pressure. There is nothing in this folder about actual physical violence or misconduct." He looked at Hazelton. "You, on the other hand, have been complained about following an incident where a civilian ship was carrying VX nerve gas in a luggage bag."

Hazelton paled.

"We have no gear to deal with chemical, biological, radioactive, or nuclear threats," Waits said. "You can see for yourself in the armory."

Jarendeno stood, following Waits to the armory. He frowned when he saw the racked shotguns and revolvers. "This is not up to standard in the slightest." He rubbed his face, sighing. "I will put in a request for Command to have a shipment of semi-auto and full-auto small arms sent here. And for a few CBRN suits, if any are presently available. Those might awhile to be approved and sent, and you'll need an instructor to train you all in putting the suits on."

"I could do that."

"When was the last time you put on a biohazard suit?"

"About . . . ten years ago, I think?"

"They've updated somewhat in the last few years. We'll send an instructor." Jarendeno took one last look at the armory, then looked over his shoulder at Hazelton. "When were you instated as Head Marshal?"

"Five years ago," Hazelton replied.

"And you didn't put in a request for small arms or biohazard gear?"

"I didn't . . . see the need."

"Bullshit. These are severe violations that can put the entire population of Sevastopol in harm's way." Jarendeno gave Hazelton a dirty look.

The nervous knots loosened. Waits resisted the urge to smile with the intense satisfaction.

Hazelton couldn't offer an argument. He looked down, but Waits saw him cast a glance to Ransome, who shrugged.

"Don't look at me. I certainly didn't tell you to ignore your organization's own policies," Ransome replied.

"You do have some options, Hazelton," Jarendeno said, ignoring Ransome. "You can resign your position, and hand it over to somebody within this department, or we can give you a six-month second chance."

Waits's stomach dropped. _Six months? I promised Lingard I'd be handling Ransome by the end of this week!_

Still looking down, Hazelton sighed. "Six months it is, then."

"You will still be in place here for the time being. I'll present this to Command, and let them decide if you should stay."

"That'll take almost a month," Waits said.

"If there was a base closer to KG-348, perhaps that would change. This is as fast as we can go. I'm sorry."

* * *

Throughout the rest of the inspection, Waits felt like a rug had been yanked out from under him, and simultaneously punched in the stomach. Six months. Six fucking months.

Jarendeno hadn't forgotten to talk to Lingard. He made the journey over to SciMed, and questioned her for all of five minutes. From where he stood, Waits couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew he could count on Lingard to tell the truth without spilling their secret.

He looked at Jarendeno as the other Marshal turned and headed back in his direction. "I knew you weren't guilty of any misconduct," Jarendeno said. "Seems like a nice lady, Doctor Lingard."

"Yeah," Waits replied. "Jesus, twenty-some-odd years ago, you were still a recruit, and more of a follower than a take-charge guy. I'm real proud of you, and you should be proud, too."

Jarendeno grinned. "Thanks. It's . . . It's an honor to be alongside you again, somewhat. I've changed, and . . . you haven't changed much, if you want me to be honest."

"I'm still an asshole. I know."

"There's that. There's also . . . you're still . . ." Jarendeno sighed, trying to find the right word. "You're still alone. Not entirely sure when you plan on retiring, but I think that whole process will go a lot smoother if you have someone to go home to. Have you tried . . . meeting people?"

"I think the right person will come along when she comes along," Waits said. "Right now, I just . . . don't have the energy for it. Been through so many crappy relationships that I need to stop and think and get my priorities straight before I ever try again."

Jarendeno nodded. "It's best you go at your own pace, slow as it may be."

"Hey, you found your perfect person, and you've got a family. Do what works for you, son. I'll be . . . I'll be doing what works for me."

Another nod. "Well, hopefully, I'll get some news back to you about cleaning up the Bureau here within the week after I return to Gateway. Given that no one's been injured or killed, Command will likely give Hazelton a second chance."

Waits glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. "I have a feeling Hazelton's corrupt. Corrupt, or a Goddamn puppet for Ransome. Probably both."

"I had an odd feeling myself when I noticed a Seegson executive by the Marshal Bureau without an emergency. You do realize that we take accusations of corruption seriously. The last thing we want is for someone's life to be destroyed due to a false accusation. We'd need a lot of evidence, done quietly and discreetly. This is not something that can be made public unless we're absolutely certain something fishy is going on here."

"That was my plan for if Hazelton had been thrown out right away. Lingard's been blackmailed by Ransome, and God only knows who else he's fucked around with."

"We'd need documents and records before anything can be launched."

"I'd have to pass it to a departing Marshal so Ransome doesn't get his hands on it."

"Whatever you decide to do, just make sure to send evidence, or else Command won't look at it."

Waits nodded, then noticed Lingard from the corner of his eye. He swallowed, not sure how to explain to her that they wouldn't be dealing with Ransome anytime soon. But, he had to tell her. "Excuse me, I need to go . . . talk to Lingard about something."

"Sure. I'm getting ready to head back home anyway. Should be another hour. Come by the terminals to say 'so long.'"

"Alright." Waits stepped away from Jarendeno, heading toward the San Cristobal entrance. He paused in front of Lingard. "We should . . . go somewhere private to talk. I got some bad news."

He and Lingard disappeared into the hospital. Morley was entertaining some of the kids in the children's ward. A girl with her ankle in a brace was sitting with her arms around Morley's neck as he told dramatic iterations of classic fairy tales.

As they headed further down the hall, Morley's voice faded. Occasionally, they heard laughter from the children listening to him. They stopped when they came to a spot where they couldn't hear anyone, and no one could hear them.

Waits took a breath. "We . . . won't be dealing with Ransome by the end of the week. They're not removing Hazelton right away; he's gonna try for a six-month second chance, but, Command has to improve it, and they won't know about it until Jarendeno goes back to Gateway, which'll take three weeks." A lump formed in his throat. "I'm sorry. Just . . . I'm so sorry."

Lingard nodded, looking Waits in the eye. "It's OK. It's not something you can control."

Waits sat on the floor, with his back against the wall. Lingard sat next to him. "I can't believe this," Waits muttered.

"You know I'm not mad at you, right?"

Waits nodded, and sighed. "Still . . . I made a promise to you."

"It wasn't something anyone could be able to keep." Lingard put her arms around him. "Are you crying?"

"Little bit, yeah." Waits swallowed. His face became warm, and his eyes stung with tears.

Resting her head on his shoulder, Lingard pulled a tissue from one of her pockets. She dried his face, then put it back in her pocket. "Waits?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

The feeling of being stunned was buried under a multitude of other emotions. Waits wasn't sure how to respond, and he didn't feel quite ready to say "I love you" back. He put his arm around Lingard, saying, "Thanks."

Silence filled the hallway. Waits turned his head to face Lingard, finding the tip of his nose touching hers. His heart fluttered, then he whispered, "Kiss?"

Lingard smiled and nodded, moving her arms around Waits's neck before pulling him in. Their little moment was swiftly and rather rudely interrupted by the sound of a child laughing, and they both turned to see Morley running out of the children's ward, the girl with a broken ankle on his back. He was giving her a piggyback ride.

"Coming through!" Morley jogged past them.

Waits sighed and rubbed his face when Morley rounded a corner. "That's normal, right?"

"Completely normal," Lingard replied. "All the kids love him." She looked at Waits. "We should probably go somewhere with a little more privacy."

"Yeah."

"Would you . . . mind staying in my apartment tonight?"

Waits gave her a look. "Two things. Number one, Ransome is still around, and God only knows what he'll be up to for the next six months. Number two . . . are we ready for that yet?"

"I'm referring to just sharing a bed, not . . . not sex."

"And again, are we ready for that?"

Morley dashed by them again, the girl still on his back.

"Personally, I'm ready," Lingard said.

"Alright. Let me get this straight. You want to sleep with me tonight."

"Just sleep."

"OK. And you don't give a fuck if Ransome finds out?"

"He won't." Lingard pointed to Morley, who came sprinting down the hall once more. "I think we can trust Morley to keep Ransome distracted."

"We'll need more than just a distraction." Waits paused to think. "Is he on any meds?"

"At the moment, no."

"OK. I still have an idea. We're gonna put Ransome to bed early."

* * *

After saying his goodbyes to Jarendeno, Waits headed down to the food court to see his and Lingard's plan had already been carried out; Ransome was asleep at one of the tables, and Morley was getting ready to carry him back to the penthouses.

"What the hell did you give him?" Waits asked as Morley walked by, holding a limp, sleeping Ransome.

"Oh, nothing much," Morley replied. "He'll sleep through the night, that's for sure. I save this stuff for patients who have difficulties sleeping after surgery. Put it in his drink and then I started talking to him about how he's working too hard and needs a long sleep. Five minutes later, he's out like a light."

"Hey, if you need any favors, just let me know. I can't thank you enough."

"I haven't had this much fun working here in a long time. Just keep finding things for me to do in my off-hours. Have fun tonight." Morley headed over to the elevator, a big grin on his face.

"Sure." Waits watched Morley leave, and turned to head into the food court. Having eaten at the grill in the lower mall for several nights a week, he wanted something a tad lighter, but still filling. Part of him didn't have an appetite at all. He was actually a little excited about getting to sleep with a woman for the first time in his life, though he had slept on his own for so long that he wasn't sure about sharing a small space with someone.

After getting a sandwich, Waits headed up to Lingard's apartment. He sighed while knocking on the door, trying to push back his second thoughts and doubts. _This might be the only chance in my life I'll get to feel like a teenager again-even though I didn't do shit like this as a teenager._

"It's unlocked!" Lingard called from inside.

Waits opened the door, seeing Lingard sitting on a small couch across from a screen. A barely-touched plate of food was on the table in front of her, and she was gazing at a travel documentary on her home state of Hawaii. The window shades had been closed. Waits had a feeling Lingard didn't want to be reminded she was millions of miles away from home, in the middle of literal nowhere. She glanced at him as he walked in. "Hi."

"Hi," Waits replied. "You . . . ah . . . got anything to drink?"

"I bought a six-pack of beer just for you. It's in the fridge."

"Thanks."

"Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah." Waits opened the fridge, and pulled a can from its plastic binding. He walked back into the living area, cracking open the can before sitting next to Lingard. She moved to cuddle up to him. They watched the television for a view minutes, then Waits broke the silence. "So . . . we're here. We're in private. Now what?"

"We enjoy each other's company without interruptions," Lingard said.

"Right. No Ransome. No Hazelton." Waits took a long drink. "No Morley running around with kids on his back."

"Yeah. I've left Morley alone in the hospital all night before, and sometimes I feel like he gets even less sleep than I do."

"Does he take breaks?"

"Once in awhile. He's told me he's OK with staying in the hospital. Frankly, he's the only who'll get the kids in there to sleep when they can't."

"He doesn't give them the special shit he gave Ransome tonight, does he?"

Lingard grinned. "No. He just sits and talks to them. He gets to know them and it makes them feel good."

"Are you good with the kids?"

"Depends on the day. There are times where I don't like it when they call me 'mom.'"

Waits nodded. "You know you're past being able to have your own, but there'll always be reminders of what you never got."

"Exactly." Lingard was quiet for a couple of heartbeats. "A few people have told me that . . . what happened in the past is in the past and I need to stop thinking and talking about it."

"They haven't really comprehended that it was probably a traumatic experience for you."

She nodded. "I don't know what I could've done differently, or even if it was my fault. With no answers, I just . . . I . . ."

"Blamed yourself."

"Yeah. For a very long time."

"Well, think of it this way; from what you told me, your first husband was probably a piece of crap if he had left you over the miscarriage-"

"That wasn't it." Lingard pulled some tissues from a box on the table. "He . . . had been cheating since he found out I was pregnant."

"And that makes him an even bigger piece of shit. Would you want to put your son or daughter through . . . not having a father? Worse yet, having a father, but knowing he's not there and doesn't care? What do you think that would do to them?"

"You do have a point. I feel like . . . I'd find a way, but . . . I don't know."

"Not with your job. And taking your kids here, to Sevastopol? You couldn't do that to them, especially with Ransome after you. Do you want him going after your kids?"

"Honestly, I don't think he would."

"You never know. Either way . . . we can't change what happened. I guess the best thing you can do is accept what happened, and try to move on without . . . denying it happened or trying to suppress the memory of it, because that'll hurt in the long run."

"You're right. I've been told that before, too. I'm just not sure . . . how. How to move on. Every time I think about it, I keep it to myself. You're the first person I've talked to about it in a few years."

"Personally, I think the fact that you're finally talking to someone about it will help. You shouldn't have to keep it to yourself if it's hurting you that bad."

For another few minutes, they returned their focus to the TV. Waits finished his drink and thought about getting up to grab another, but that meant disturbing Lingard, who looked comfortable snuggled up with him. He glanced down at her, and kissed her forehead. "I won't make you get up. Unless I have to use your bathroom."

She smirked. "I knew at some point you were going to say that."

"I do have permission to use your bathroom, right?"

"Yes. Just make sure you clean up after yourself."

"Hey, I at least know how to aim."

"Your aim was terrible when you were drunk. Just so you know."

"Sorry."

The conversations varied throughout the night, until the two decided it was time to sleep. After the lights were turned off, silence fell over the apartment, and they lay awake, both feeling unsure of what to do next.

Waits let out his breath. "So, this is what it's like to share a bed with someone."

Lingard turned to face him. "Yeah. I've done this before. You haven't, right?"

"This is indeed my first time."

"Ah. I'll make it a good first time for you."

"Don't say that. Makes it sound dirty."

"Well, it won't be dirty." Lingard put her arms around Waits, snuggling close against his chest.

It took a lot longer than usual for Waits to start falling asleep. Like on the couch, he couldn't bring himself to move Lingard, so he adjusted himself as best he could to get comfortable.

* * *

They awoke the next morning in different positions to when they had fallen asleep. An alarm clock started beeping, prompting a half-conscious Waits to reach over and push the clock off the nightstand.

"That means I have to get up, and so do you," Lingard said with her face planted in a pillow.

"Five more minutes," Waits moaned.

"No. Get up."

"Make me."

"I'll buy your coffee."

"OK." Waits sat up, and stretched. "Good morning, sweetheart. How'd you sleep?"

"Good. Aside from when you were half on top of me."

"Maybe we need a bigger bed, then."

"When we go to Gateway, we'll get a bigger bed."

"You're not suggesting we . . . share an apartment on Gateway, are you?"

"That's actually not a bad idea."

Waits held up his hands. "Slow down, there, sweetheart. I think we're plowing through this a little too quickly. I'm not saying 'no.' I'm just saying we need to take our time, OK? We did the sleeping together. We're doing the kissing. I'm ready to just take it slow for a little while. Is . . . Is that OK?"

Lingard nodded. "Sorry I'm not . . . doing this the right way."

"There really is no 'right way.' We both had crappy experiences with romantic relationships and so we're still . . . still trying to figure out what's right for us. I'm perfectly fine with taking it a little slower. You're not doing anything wrong." Waits looked at the clock on the floor. "Hopefully Ransome is still out. Better get dressed and . . . head out like any other day."

* * *

_To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, U.S.A.; Earth_

_From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station; KG-348 Orbit_

_Subject: N/A_

_Hey, Em,  
_

_Sorry I haven't sent you a message in awhile. Things got busy here, even though it's still pretty quiet. Dead quiet, sometimes.  
_

_There's a lot going on that I'd rather tell you face-to-face and in private. I think you'll be happy to know that I'm coming out of my shell a little. Actually met some people who can put up with my usual crap.  
_

_They're both doctors here at Sevastopol's med facility. Dr. Morley is very much on the outgoing side. Pretty sure he puts more than two sugar packets in his coffee every morning if he's got enough energy to power through some very long shifts. Dr. Lingard is a bit shy. First person outside the Marshal Bureau I spoke to after I arrived. She's nice, and gentle. Has a rocky past, but I've been doing my best to be nice to her and make her feel less alone.  
_

_I like her. After so many years, I found someone I really like. Hopefully, you'll be able to meet her.  
_

_Let me know how Micah's doing. If he's getting married, send me an invitation. I really want to be connected with you guys. I know it'll take time, but I'm willing to put in the work.  
_

_Lots of love,  
_

_Jethro._

* * *

_Question: How are Gorman and Waits similar when it comes to their loyalties and friendships? How are they different?_


	13. Chapter 13

_2135_

A week passed since the inspection. No doubt Jarendeno was still in hypersleep en route to Gateway. Everything became one massive waiting game. Even without this, it was still a waiting game. Waiting for the station to close. Waiting to go home.

Hazelton was a bit more subdued. He barely talked to Waits. Waits barely talked to him. As a result, Waits threatened Hazelton less, and didn't receive more night shifts as punishments. Then again, Waits was starting to wish for night shifts whenever he couldn't sleep.

He was starting to wonder whether or not it was a good idea to tell Lingard he wanted to slow down. A day after they slept together for the first time, Lingard told Waits not to visit her office because she wanted some space for a little while. Waits could understand that. Didn't stop him from being lonely throughout the day.

The day turned into two, then three, and four. Waits would let her contact him. After the fifth day, though, he sent Lingard a message, to which she responded, "_Not tonight. Hanging out with some of the nurses at a bar._"

So Waits alieved his loneliness by contacting Morley, finally taking him up on the offer to go out for drinks.

It felt a tad awkward to be in the same bar Lingard was in that night. Then again, they didn't have a lot of options. The bar was a little crowded, save for the dance floor in the center, which was empty since the person in charge of the music hadn't arrived yet. Waits kept glancing at Lingard, a sense of longing creating a dull ache in his chest.

"I think I fucked up," he said.

"Pardon?" Morley looked up from his menu.

"I fucked up. I shouldn't have told her we were moving too fast."

Morley set down his menu to study Lingard. She seemed engrossed in conversation with the nurse sitting next to her. "I don't think you fucked up. I think this might be good for the two of you. Sometimes, all you need is a bit of space for a length of time, and then things go back to normal. Neither of you did anything wrong. If you feel like you're moving at a pace too fast for your liking, you should say something."

"Maybe there was a better way I could've said it. I mean, we kinda-sorta joked about getting an apartment together on Gateway, and I . . . I said I'm not ready to think about it yet."

"Well, Jesus Christ, Waits, you've been dating her for a month. I can imagine you're not quite ready to discuss . . . living arrangements. Although, if Sevastopol decommissions within, say, two years, who knows where you two will be. Maybe you'll be ready to live together by then."

"Makes sense when you put it that way. Wish I'd thought of that."

"Mention it next time you talk to Lingard. I can guarantee you'll talk to each other again. She wouldn't throw you away over this." Morley leaned in to whisper. "She loves you."

"I know." Waits sighed. "She's a saint for loving me."

"I think you're being a bit too hard on yourself. She really does love you. A lot." Morley smiled. "And she does miss you, if you don't mind me telling you one of her secrets."

Waits looked at him.

"Just yesterday, she was telling me that she half-expected you to walk into her office at any moment. She misses you, your voice, your cap, your hugs and kisses, everything. She told me you get her through the day, and not having you around for the last few days has been a bit difficult. Plus, I think Ransome's actually afraid of you."

"He should be."

"I can usually hold him off by saying she's in with a patient when you're there, but . . . I couldn't use that excuse. He went into her office, and wanted to know what Marshal Jarendeno talked to her about. He wanted to know why she didn't get you in trouble, because he thinks you're going to hurt her. Truthfully, I don't think he really thinks that. I think he wants to keep her in the pretty little line he's got of everyone he's blackmailed. He doesn't want her giving you information, lest Hazelton gets removed."

"That much is obvious." Waits looked down at the table. "You know what? Right now, I don't care about Ransome or Hazelton. I just don't want to care. Not right now."

"That's fine. I do feel bad watching you and Lingard suffer." Morley picked up his menu, studying Waits for a moment. "Do you want to go talk to her?"

"She doesn't want me there."

"You never know." Morley smiled. "Go talk to her."

"I can't. Not . . . Not now."

"Suit yourself."

There was silence between them after ordering their drinks and something to eat. Waits didn't feel hungry enough to have a full dinner, despite barely eating anything since noon. He stared at his drink. Part of him wanted to go back to his apartment, and not do much of anything. On the other hand, it would be rude to just ditch Morley.

Life dragged on around him. Conversations went on and on, a steady droning noise and ambience. Waits couldn't pay attention to a single one of them. He kept looking over at Lingard. The nurse next to her was doing most of the talking.

Then she looked in Waits's direction. People walked between them, but never once did they lose eye contact with each other.

Morley took a sip of his wine, and formed his hands into the shape of a heart again. "Go talk to her."

"You're not helping," Waits growled.

"Go talk to her."

"No. Say it again and I'll make you drink the hot sauce your wings are in."

The lights began dimming and swirling lights of blue and purple and red and green flooded the bar. Patrons made their way from their tables to the dance floor. Waits looked at Morley. "For the record, I'm not going out there. That'd be embarrassing-"

Morley was already up. "I'm going out there! Watch my drink!"

Waits rubbed his face, sighing heavily. Synthesized dance music had filled the room, and he could barely hear himself think.

He looked toward the bar, noticing Lingard and her friends were gone. A moment later, he spotted one of the nurses introducing Lingard to a tall, thin man in the center of the floor, dancers moving around them. That got Waits to stand. He began marching toward them, then stopped when the scene changed.

Good ol' Morley swept Lingard away, and brought her over to Waits. "You two must be together!" he yelled over the music. "Talk to each other! And then dance together!"

"Well, we can't exactly talk with all the noise!" Waits shouted.

"Then go dance, lovebirds!"

"I can't dance!"

"Half these people are drunk anyway! It doesn't make a difference how good you are!" Morley started pushing them out to the floor. "Go have fun!"

Anyone else would've seen this as a way to be young again. Young and stupid. Young and stupid and willing to be as embarrassing as he could possibly be. Waits didn't think he could do it.

The music changed to something a little slower. People paired up, laughing drunkenly, making a mockery out of dancing as a couple. Waits and Lingard were still hesitating when Morley headed back over. He was giving an irritated sigh while pressing them closer together, and then he grabbed their hands.

"Waits, you take her hand-" Morley thrust Lingard's left hand into Waits's right, "Lingard, you put your right hand behind his back. Waits, left hand just above her waist."

"You're an ass, Morley," Waits muttered.

"Well, now, wait a minute. I didn't know any of this," Lingard said.

"You were married twice. Didn't you slow-dance with both your ex-husbands at the reception?"

"Yes, but . . . we weren't coached on it. Come on, let's . . . try it."

Waits sighed, rolling his eyes. "If you're gonna try it, fine. I'll try it with you."

Lingard smiled. "You need two people anyway." She squeezed Waits's hand.

"I know. I'd be a terrible partner if I left you."

"Go out there!" Morley shouted, pushing them again.

"Fine!" Lingard glared at Morley before dragging Waits to the center of the floor, still squeezing his right hand. They slow-danced as best they could, mindful of each other's shoes. Lingard moved her right arm around Waits's neck, grinning up at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Waits replied, softly. "Sorry Morley's being such a pain-"

"He's just trying to help, and frankly . . . I appreciate it."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Lingard glanced over at where the nurses were observing. "I'll be honest, I was hoping for rescue when they introduced me to whatshisname back there. Pretty sure you would have the same feeling."

"Blind dates and sudden hookups were how all my relationships started. And look how they turned out. Plus, I don't have any friends to find people to introduce me to."

"Oh, Waits, don't say that."

"It's true, though. I don't have any friends aside from you. And I guess Morley."

"You need to be-" Lingard yanked Waits's cap, "less grumpy. Besides, Morley's done a lot for you."

"I know, I know. I'm just kidding." Waits kissed Lingard's forehead. "You wanna leave and . . . find somewhere to talk?"

She nodded. Gradually, they began heading toward the bar entrance. Lingard paused, and said, "We can't leave Morley here by himself. One second-" She let go of Waits, disappearing into the crowd of dancing people. "Morley! _Morley!_"

"Lingard!" Morley called back.

"We're leaving!"

"OK!"

Lingard waited a moment. When Morley didn't show, she yelled, "We're not leaving you here by yourself!"

Morley made his way over to her. "Hang on, my wine," he said.

"I drank it!" Waits hollered. "Let's go already!"

* * *

Morley headed straight up to his apartment after the group left the lower mall. Waits and Lingard took the long way, taking the stairway to the Spaceflight Terminals. There was silence and darkness. They ignored the sight of the vastness of space through the windows as they walked together, holding hands. After walking a ways through the terminal, they found a place to sit, gazing out the window at the colors of the nearby planet.

"So, Morley said we should talk, huh?" Lingard said.

"Yeah, he did," Waits replied. "I . . . I think I should apologize for saying we needed to slow things down a little-"

"You don't have to apologize. I think you were right, and . . . I think I was wrong for completely cutting off contact with you. I don't think that's what you meant by 'slowing down.'"

"I don't blame you for wanting a little space. We all need it sometimes. If that's what you needed to let your mind, I dunno, recharge, then that's OK."

Lingard rested her head on Waits's shoulder. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I missed you. Did you miss me?"

"Very much."

"Morley told me you kept feeling like I'd walk in your office at any moment."

Lingard sighed. "Of course he did."

"At least he told me and no one else."

"Good point, but I think that there are some parts of our relationship that we should keep private. No matter how much Morley asks, just don't tell him a damn thing."

"I don't tell him anything. You're the one who told him you miss me."

"I know."

"Anyway, we missed each other. That's a good thing. Means we still care about each other." Waits sighed, staring upward. "Now what?"

"Someone gave me a cherry pie earlier today. You can come over and have a slice."

"I'll have two. Didn't have much of a dinner." Waits stood up, holding his hand out to help Lingard stand.

Lingard shook her head, smiling as she took Waits's hand. "Coffee and beer and food are the only things that'll make you get up."

"Not always."

"I think I'll test that tomorrow." She gave Waits a playful nudge as they headed to the elevator. When the doors closed behind them, she threw her arms around his neck to nuzzle his forehead and kiss him full on the lips. Waits hugged her, keeping the kiss going.

Lingard then pulled away, her expression changing. "You did drink Morley's wine! I thought you were just joking to get him out of there!" She turned his cap all the way around. "Waits, that's disgusting!"

Waits laughed before kissing her again.

* * *

Things were quiet over the next several weeks. Hazelton was seemingly on edge all the time, as though a message telling him to pack his things and leave Sevastopol would pop up any second. The other Marshals went about their duties, and Waits was balancing being in love with being the best Marshal he possibly could.

His random little gifts for Lingard were definitely on the unconventional side, things only a man like Waits could get away with. Anyone else would be seen as lazy and not trying hard enough. Lingard seemed to greatly appreciate the packages of butterscotch chips or white chocolate chips or peanut butter chips or really anything Waits dug up in the stores in Sevastopol's mall. It was the thought that counted.

As Waits had predicted, it was nearly a month after the inspection when Command sent their approval for Hazelton to stay for six more months. Once those months were up, someone else would be sent to Sevastopol to evaluate him. If all was good, Hazelton would stay. If not, someone else was taking charge.

July had turned to August. August then turned to September. Back home, there would be some noticeable changes; the leaves would start turning vibrant colors. The air would become colder. Fall and Halloween decorations would start to appear on houses along the streets.

Not here. Here, everything stayed the same.

Waits's dreams changed, though. He found himself in a maze-a maze that looked similar to Sevastopol's corridors-and there were signs everywhere pointing to a way out. However, when he followed the signs, they just led to a bigger maze. It frustrated him greatly, to the point where he felt like screaming.

When he awoke, he was being hugged by Lingard.

"You're having a bad dream," she whispered. "Take a deep breath. Everything's OK."

The biggest change he was experiencing so far was being able to be completely vulnerable in front of someone. He certainly wouldn't tear down his defenses for anyone, but he had given Lingard a key. A key to enter his heavily locked and fortified heart. He could trust her with that key.

As the calendar flipped to October, Waits took notice of the fact that no new weapons or gear had been delivered to Sevastopol. Hazelton seemed to anticipate him asking about it; without looking up from his desk, he said, "I sent a request. Haven't heard back. I will let you know when I hear something, Waits."

Waits took that as "don't ask about it again." And so he didn't.

Morley had been organizing Halloween parties for the kids in the hospital. Waits was deathly afraid of being caught in the middle of one, so he messaged Lingard to meet up somewhere outside the hospital. When he saw her, he sighed before taking a tissue out of one of his pockets. "You got glitter on your face-" he began wiping her cheeks, "Can't kiss you yet . . . There. Wait, wait, I missed a spot . . . Now you're clean. Whose bright fucking idea was it to give Morley glitter?"

"I'm supposed to be dressing up as a fairy later today. The glitter's mine. By the way, you're welcome to come."

"No, thanks. I'd rather not shit glitter for the next three days. But, can you save some candy for me?"

"Yes. Yes, I can."

"Thanks." Waits kissed her. "Have fun getting tormented by the little brats."

He wouldn't see her again until later that night. She knocked frantically on his door, calling, "Waits, I need a little help here!"

Waits opened the door, and held back a snort when he saw Lingard's left arm was tangled in the wires holding up the fake fairy wings on her back. Glitter and sticky things (which Waits assumed came from the kids) covered the wings. A big grin crossed Waits's face, and he couldn't hold his laugh back any longer. "Before I help you out, sweetheart, mind . . . mind explaining what happened?"

"I only need to say three things: young children, lots of sugar, and Morley riling them up. Please help, this is starting to hurt."

"OK." Waits closed the door after Lingard walked in. "Turn around. How the fuck did you get all tangled?"

"Oh, they just couldn't resist playing with the wings! They're pulling on them and trying to climb on me. Meanwhile, Morley's hopped up on as much sugar as they are, so he's . . . less than helpful."

"I don't want to imagine Morley hopped up on sugar."

"I tried to fix the costume, and when I put my arm through the strap, I realized the stupid thing was torn, and I had put my arm through the wire."

"And then you made it worse by trying to get out of it."

"Exactly."

"Well, if you struggle anymore with it, you're gonna start cutting off circulation, so just hold still, and I'll get this thing off you."

"I know that, Waits, I'm a doctor! I'd pull on your stupid hat if I wasn't stuck right now!"

Waits smirked. "Have I ever told you you're cute when you're angry?"

"It's gonna get less cute if you don't do something!"

"Alright, alright!" Waits opened the cabinets under his kitchen sink. "Ah, shit, I think I left my wire-cutters down in the Bureau. Hazelton's such an airheaded ass that we don't have a lot of good rescue equipment, so I got some stuff of my own."

"I'm not going to wait for you! You can be slower than molasses sometimes!"

"That actually hurt my feelings."

"It's true, though. You are slow on everything that doesn't pertain to Marshal duty. Or when you get the munchies at night."

"Oh, wow, get up one time for a leftover roll and suddenly you think I get the munchies every fucking night!"

"Well, that was the fastest I've seen you leave the bed! That, and all the times you have to pee!"

"I'm sorry my bladder functions!"

"_Go get those fucking wire-cutters! My arm HURTS!_"

Waits let out a low whistle, then grinned. "Color me _impressed_, sweetheart. You dropped your first F-bomb! I'm so proud."

"You're not my favorite person right now, Waits."

"I'm your most favorite person on Sevastopol." He kissed her forehead before leaving the apartment.

* * *

In a few days, the calendar changed again. Hazelton was entering his third month of his second-chance trial. In many ways, he was beginning to look defeated.

For once, Waits felt sorry for him, but he also felt like it was too late to fix anything. The most he could do is not be a pain to Hazelton, just do what he said and not argue-or threaten to piss in his coffee again.

Still, if the feeling continued to eat at him, Waits would consider sitting down and talking to Hazelton, man-to-man. Regardless of how incompetent he felt Hazelton was, leaving someone to suffer physically or mentally wasn't right. Waits knew that first-hand.

Holidays were fast approaching, and still not much changed. The corridors were more quiet than usual on Thanksgiving. Hazelton gave everyone the day off, and Waits received a message from Esmeralda before heading to Lingard's apartment.

She wished him a happy Thanksgiving, told him everything was going well, and that Micah was planning on proposing to Colleen next year. Right now, he was saving for a ring. She hoped he was doing well, and she was happy he was becoming a bit more social.

That was all. No wishes that he would visit for Christmas.

Waits left his apartment, knowing today was a day to just be grateful for what he had, and he was grateful for having Lingard. When he arrived on Sevastopol five months ago, finding someone this special was the last thing he thought about, yet here he was now, entering her apartment and being greeted with a hug and a kiss. He felt like his luck was finally changing. That was definitely something to be thankful for, as was being alone with her for the whole day.

Lingard wasn't much of a cook, either, and she was embarrassed to admit that. Thanksgiving dinner was a few pieces of frozen turkey and instant potatoes and gravy. Plus a pre-made pumpkin pie for dessert.

"Looks real fancy, sweetheart," Waits said, watching her take the turkey out of the oven.

"This is all they had left at the shops," Lingard replied. "I made sure to season them a little. I just hope they come out OK."

"I'm your guinea pig, then? Don't be upset if I spit something out." Waits grinned. "I won't do that, though. Not unless it's that bad."

"Gee, thanks." Lingard set the tray down, and looked at the small pot containing the potatoes. "That's almost done, I think."

"When was the last time you ever cooked for yourself?"

"Long, long time ago. When I came here, I found myself with not much time to do stuff like that."

"Found yourself with not much time, or threw yourself a little too hard into your work?"

Lingard paused, and nodded. "Yeah. I just . . . I came here about . . . eight years ago, right after my second marriage ended. There was a sheet at the hospital I used to work at about going out to San Cristobal because they needed doctors, and . . . here I am. It was a new place for me, and I was very scared. I didn't want anyone to know I was scared, so I tried to be excited and rearing to go, and . . . it . . . I-I wonder why I've stayed. I was so, so unhappy for years and years."

"And then I magically poofed into your life."

Another nod. "Yeah. You showed up, and it was like a-a . . . an angel of sorts. An angel with crooked wings and a busted halo and a pottymouth."

Waits grinned. "Definitely sounds like me as an angel."

"Overall, I'm . . . I'm very grateful to have you in my life now. It's been four months since we started dating, and I wouldn't trade a single day of these last few months for the world."

"Well, I'm about to get real sappy here, but I'm very grateful to have you, too."

"Honestly, it's adorable whenever you get sappy."

"Why? Because I'm usually a mean son-of-a-bitch?"

"Yes." Lingard smiled before pinching Waits's cheeks. "Your heart's a puddle of mush right now. I know it."

"Yeah, yeah," Waits muttered. "Pinch me later. I'd like to eat, please."

* * *

_Question: How might Drake have handled being in Waits's situation?_


	14. Chapter 14

_2135_

As Christmas approached, Waits had to avoid San Cristobal yet again because of Morley's parties for the kids. He learned that the hard way when he was nearly showered with glitter and fake snow from some type of makeshift confetti bomb on his way to Lingard's office. A few flakes of the snow had managed to get on his cap, his jacket, and in his hair. When he showed up at Lingard's, she had to cover a smile.

"What?" Waits muttered. "Why're you laughing, sweetheart?"

"Take off your cap and look at it," Lingard said.

"Take off my-oh." Waits shook his cap. "Thought I was able to avoid Doctor Crazy and his snow-bombs."

The station became quieter the closer they got to Christmas. Waits didn't have anything in terms of plans for the holiday. He bought a tiny sprig of fake mistletoe from a dollar store, and would take it into Lingard's office to ensure he'd get a kiss. Other than that, he had nothing. No elaborate plans or gifts. He would probably just invite Lingard to his apartment to sit and talk and cuddle.

This would be a lot better if he could take her to Massachusetts. So much better, with snow and streets that looked like they belonged in an old Christmas card.

The more he thought about it, the more depressed he felt. He wished he had thought of this a little sooner. Maybe they could have taken a few weeks off. _No, we couldn't. We have so few doctors and Marshals here that we can't afford to leave._

On Christmas Eve, he waited patiently for Lingard. He sent her a message that morning, inviting her over for dinner, drinks, and good company. She responded with a yes.

For once, Waits put effort into cleaning his apartment. He was just as bad a cook as Lingard, so he went out to grab something for the two of them to have for dinner later. He grabbed a bottle of wine and some chocolate for them to share, as well as some scented candles. Around the time Lingard was set to arrive, Waits set the candles on the kitchen table and the coffee table to light them. He pulled out his cigarette lighter, and figured he'd take a smoke out while he was at it. He went around the apartment, lighting the candles with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. When the last candle was lit, he didn't put out the lighter until putting the small flame up to his cigarette. He took a draw on it, and pulled it out while admiring his work around the apartment.

Most of the decorations he had up were gifts from Esmeralda. He was never much into decorating for anything, but he made an exception for his sister. Through a breath of smoke, he could see the framed photograph of himself and Esmeralda from a few years ago. It pained him to think that the most recent photo of him and her was taken five years ago. Em was hugging him and smiling. Waits actually looked happy for once. He knew the only thing that would make him happiest would be a chance for Em to meet Lingard and for the three of them to spend time together.

Waits glanced at a clock when his thoughts turned to Lingard; it was ten minutes past when she was supposed to arrive. Waits shrugged, figuring she probably got caught up with a patient. No big deal.

Ten minutes turned to thirty, then an hour. Waits paced with a beer in hand and another cigarette in his mouth. He was gradually becoming more and more anxious, going over to his computer desk to see if Lingard had sent him any messages. So far, nothing, and that worried him more. He gave a heavy sigh before setting the bottle down in the kitchen and grabbing his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders as he left his apartment.

_I just hope she's OK,_ he thought as he rode the elevator down to the transit station. _Someone's gonna get their nuts kicked in if she's hurt._

The platform was empty. A part of Waits wondered if Lingard was on her way; he wouldn't want to miss her or pass her. When a car pulled in, he waited to see who would get off, and breathed a slight sigh of relief when Morley got off.

"Waits, I was just looking for you," Morley said. "What're you doing?"

"Going to find Lingard. She was supposed to be at my apartment over an hour ago."

Morley held up a finger. "And that's what I wanted to see you about-"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ tell me she's hurt!"

"She's not hurt. She's not hurt. Please, relax. She's alright. She's . . ." Morley paused, looking at the floor. "She's in Ransome's apartment. He's hosting a little Christmas party of his own, and kinda-sorta-but-definitely-not-nicely made her attend."

"Considering this is the season of giving, why don't I go give him a punch in the nose?"

"Right. Because Hazelton will defend you." Morley gave Waits a look, but his gaze then turned sympathetic. "I firmly believe Ransome is doing this to get a reaction out of you. If you get violent with him, you will get tossed, and he'll have no more threats on Sevastopol."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No." Morley looked a little defeated. He sighed as he adjusted his jacket and backpack. "I'm sorry, Waits. The best you can do is just . . . go back to your apartment and have a quiet Christmas to yourself."

Arguing was pointless, especially with Morley. Without so much as a "good night" or "Merry Christmas," Waits headed back to the elevator. As he rode back up to his apartment, he figured there wasn't much of a point to staying up and waiting for Lingard. Upon returning, he took a fairly long hot shower, a part of him still somewhat hopeful that Lingard would show up. He ended up staying awake as long as he could . . . about an hour after his shower.

Waits tried to remain hopeful. He only ate part of what he had ordered for dinner, and ignored the wine in favor of his beer. He never was much of a wine-drinker anyway. When he sat on the couch to continue waiting, he was certain his stomach had more alcohol than food in it, and it made him drowsy. He was falling asleep halfway through an old Christmas movie on television. After turning off everything except the miniature Christmas tree his sister had given him years ago, he dragged himself to bed in the next room. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was almost midnight when the silence was broken by the soft beeping of someone tapping the buttons on his door lock. There was a click, and Lingard let herself in. She quietly closed and locked the door behind her, and disappeared into the bathroom to change into a nightgown. A minute later, she left the bathroom, tiptoeing across the apartment to the bedroom, and gave a sigh of relief as she crawled into the bed.

She snuggled close to Waits, and hugged him. "_Psst! _Hey. Wake up." She gently shook him. "Wake up, you big goof. Big huggable goofball." She kissed his cheek. "Waits." Another kiss. "Waits. Waits. Waaaaaits."

With a snort, Waits woke up. He grunted and turned to face Lingard, and nuzzled her forehead, happy to see her. "Hi, sweetie," he whispered, kissing her. "Morley told me you were with Ransome."

"I got my nightclothes from my apartment and ran here as quick as I could when the party ended. I'm really sorry I couldn't be here earlier."

"No, it's OK. I was worried about you, though."

"I'm surprised you didn't crash into the penthouse."

"I would have if Morley didn't stop me. You are OK, though, right?"

"Yes. Nothing happened. It was just a very boring gathering of Ransome and the people he actually doesn't hate. Little uncomfortable, but that was to be expected. They talked a lot of crap about you." Lingard nestled closer against Waits.

"Figures. They're just jealous." He squeezed her, feeling goosebumps on her arms. "You're cold," Waits said. "Need another blanket?"

"No. Just you."

"OK. Go to sleep. It's midnight."

* * *

_2136_

The calendar flipped to a new year. Waits spent New Year's Eve with Lingard, though they both figured they were going to fall asleep long before midnight. The days after Christmas were still busy for them, and they were both exhausted when they had a chance to be alone together that night.

"You know you're not getting younger when you barely acknowledge the fact that New Year's exists and you just wanna sleep by nine or earlier," Waits said.

"Today's a holiday?" Lingard grinned up at him.

"Apparently, it is. No one out here cares all that much. They're just hoping we're one day closer to closing this dump and going home."

"Going home, or just going somewhere else." Lingard sighed, adjusting herself to snuggle closer. "So . . . I guess now's a good time to ask . . . have you thought about whether or not we'll get an apartment together on Gateway?"

"I have. I think we can do it. Besides, we've been spending a lot of nights in each other's apartments. Would save us some money if we got one together."

"You're not thinking we're going too fast?"

"No. Not anymore. That was months ago. I think we're ready. I mean . . ." Waits sighed. "We're not exactly a couple of teenagers. I know I've never done this, and you've been through it twice, so . . . I imagine you don't want to make the same mistakes you did before."

"With you, I don't think I'd be making any mistakes." Lingard rested her head on Waits's shoulder. "You, on the other hand, would need to get used to the fact that you can't be barging into my office on Gateway."

Waits smirked, kissing Lingard's forehead. "I will barge into your office every day to let the rest of the staff know you are mine and I'd do anything for you."

"At least on Gateway, we won't have to hide anything."

"True. I look forward to that. I look forward to holding your hand in public without thinking someone's gonna see us." He kissed her again. "I also look forward to going back to Earth. I look forward to taking you places and showing you things you probably haven't seen in a long time. I want to drive you around Massachusetts in the fall, let you see all the colors. Take you to pubs and restaurants-"

"No, _you_ want to go to pubs and restaurants and just drink beer that hasn't been frozen in a spaceship." She gave him a playful shove.

"You know me so well." He smirked, though behind the smirk, he was starting to think he was ready to say _I love you_. "Most of all, I want to see you happy, because I-"

Waits was interrupted by the phone ringing. He cursed as Lingard got up to get it.

"Shush. It might be Ransome," Lingard hissed. She threw a blanket on him before grabbing the phone. "Hello?"

"Let's get one thing completely straight, Doc," Ransome said. "Do you have any idea what people will think when they learn you've been having sleepovers with Waits in your apartment for the last few months or so?"

Lingard remained silent, looking at the floor.

"You can't ignore me, Doc. I know you've tried the last several months. Why exactly did you cozy up to Waits in the first place? He has _nothing_. He's a sad, broken old man whose only accomplishment is evading retirement. Do you really think he'll do better than the last man you married?"

"He already has. What do you want, Ransome?"

"I called to let you know a little something, Lingard; Hazelton's out."

Waits perked up.

Lingard looked at him. "And why would you tell me?"

"Because your boyfriend's been named his replacement. The higher-ups are pissed with Hazelton's performance, and they're not giving him another chance. I know _exactly_ what Waits is going to do once he's put in, and I'm not going to be locked up in a cell until Sevastopol closes. Your career will be ripped to shreds if you so much as give Waits a tiny piece of feasible evidence. Everyone on this station will know that you two have been fucking, and you will _beg_ for my help once people start asking about it."

"Fine. I won't say a word." Lingard gave a frustrated sigh as she hung up, and turned to Waits. "Any ideas?"

"It's going to be a challenge, that's for sure," Waits replied. "I can't contact Command for _anything_ once I'm in power. Ransome will know about it." He rubbed his face, sighing. "This is a risky move, but . . . it's the only surefire way to get evidence out to Command without Ransome knowing."

"What is it?"

"I don't contact them at all. After a certain amount of time with no contact, they'll get worried, they'll send someone to check on us. I can pass printed copies of logs to whoever they send, then they leave with it. Ransome would never know."

"Can we afford to wait that long?"

"Sevastopol is likely going to close soon anyway. Besides, the more shit Ransome does, the more evidence we'll have. As long as he knows nothing, we can pull this off."

"Alright. I'm trusting you."

"I'm doing this to protect you and your career. If he ruins you here, God only knows how many people will talk about it when we all leave Sevastopol. This shit could spread, and you might lose your chance of a job on Gateway."

Lingard nodded. "OK."

"If you find any files or documents on a computer, do not send them to me. Write down where you found it on a piece of paper, and then we'll compile everything together when we're ready. We'd have to work fast, and Morley better have plenty of his sleeping shit on hand to keep Ransome away until we're done."

* * *

Waits entered the Bureau a few days later to find Hazelton placing his things in a bag. The younger man gave a sigh before opening his desk. "Waits, gotta give you all the keys, and your new desk. I really hope you're happy now."

Waits looked Hazelton up and down. "I don't think we should part on shitty terms."

"You've been an asshole from day one. What makes you think things'll change now?"

"Son, I know I'm an asshole. No need to point out the obvious."

"Well, you know what else is obvious? I've been a failure since day one. Not keeping this job anymore. I'll tell Command to wipe my contract and let me go home."

"I think you'll just fuck yourself over backwards if you do that." Waits gestured to a chair. "Sit. We'll talk."

"About what?"

"About the last eight or nine months that've gone by. I'm just curious to know what's been going on in your head."

Hazelton looked down at the desk, not responding right away.

Waits was patient. He glanced at Hazelton while adjusting himself, trying to get comfortable. Then he broke the silence. "I want to know what happened when you were put in charge here. Why did you ignore just about every regulation in the book?"

"Sevastopol wasn't considered a high-priority location. Still isn't. They're not going to send any automatic weapons or semi-auto handguns. They probably won't send any biohazard suits, either, not when we got a hundred expendable Working Joes to use up. Like the ads say, they're machines, not people. I stopped trying. It was futile, Waits."

Eyes narrowed to amber slits, Waits stared hard at Hazelton. "Be honest with me," he said, voice lowered. "Were you involved with Ransome's bullshit?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you know he's been blackmailing people all over Sevastopol?"

After a heartbeat or two of silence, Hazelton nodded. "Yes."

"And you did nothing."

"I couldn't do anything. You just . . . can't threaten Ransome. Not without serious consequences. I had . . . I had reports from people who knew . . . and . . . one morning, I found that someone had wiped everything from my computer here in the Bureau. I couldn't send anything to anyone about what I found, so . . . I quit trying."

Waits sighed. "Well, Hazelton, it's not your fault that some people can be assholes, but . . . I don't think you should've quit trying. I don't think you should quit being a Marshal, either. You need a mentor, and you need more experience. You shouldn't have been put in this position."

Hazelton nodded.

"Don't quit just yet, OK? I think you can do this with a little help. At the end of the day, though, the choice is yours."

Another nod. "Thanks, Waits." Hazelton stood up, grabbing his bag before tossing the ring of keys to Waits. "Good luck, sir."

When Hazelton disappeared from the Bureau, Waits's chest felt heavy with regret. These were significantly better terms to end on, but he knew they could be better.

Perhaps they would run into each other again. Perhaps they could look back on this and smile.

* * *

_Question: How are Lingard and Dietrich different when it comes to caring for their patients?_


	15. Chapter 15

_2136_

Waits was able to make some basic changes that first day. No one would ever have to do full-night shifts again; he wrote up a new roster splitting the night up into two six-hour shifts. One person would go from six PM to midnight, and someone else would take over from midnight until six in the morning. He wished he could split it up further, but he didn't have enough Marshals to do so.

The other Marshals were split on how they felt about this change in leadership. None of them denied that Waits had more experience than all of them combined. It made sense why Command chose him over the rest. But, like much of the populace on Sevastopol, some of them weren't sure about whether or not it was worth it to act like the station was going to keep running for several more decades, when they all knew Sevastopol was on the way out.

"Don't say that to Waits, though," Ricardo said when he thought Waits was out of earshot. "He's about as stubborn as they come."

"Great," Ross muttered. "We're stuck with Waits in charge. Son-of-a-bitch'll be docking pay left and right if we don't follow his instructions to the fucking T."

"Don't treat him too harshly, mate," Sterling added. "Poor old man's close to retirement anyways."

Waits wouldn't admit to anyone but himself that it hurt to listen to the things his own subordinates said about him. At the same time, he felt sorry for them, having been stuck in an environment where discipline and respect hadn't been much of a priority for so long. He tried to let it go. He wasn't about to let things like this get to him.

He made a point of making sure the Bureau offices and armory were locked up tight before he headed back to Lingard's for the night. Once everything was secured, Waits left, walking into an empty elevator. His stomach began growling after the doors closed, and he was glad the only thing he could worry about at the moment was what's for dinner. _We just need to be patient in dealing with Ransome._

He knew he could handle the waiting when he entered Lingard's apartment and was immediately grabbed in a hug. Little things like this, little things like having more control over the Bureau, made everything better. "Hello, sweetheart," Waits said, kissing Lingard's forehead.

"Hi." Lingard kissed his cheek. "Go sit. I picked up hot sandwiches on the way up from the hospital."

"Great. I'm starving."

"How was your first day in charge?"

"Pretty good. Couldn't do too much, but I changed up the way night shift works. Feels good being charge now." Waits sat at the small table in the kitchen. He didn't realize he had been standing all day until sitting and feeling pressure in his back and legs. He clenched his fists, feeling the muscles throughout his body relax and blood flow through.

Lingard gave him a look. "Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Waits grunted.

"Are you sure? I know you're really happy that things are starting to look up, but I don't want you straining yourself."

"I'll be alright." Waits sighed. He appreciated Lingard caring so much, but a part of him was afraid things like these would sending a message to everyone on Sevastopol. The message that he was starting to weaken. _God, Ransome would have a field day with that._

* * *

It was difficult not to send a bunch of messages to Command about getting new weapons, biohazard gear, and more Marshals, but Waits restrained himself, despite it being painful. He was able to send one message, confirming that he assumed his new post. After that, he initiated silence, hoping and praying Command would get worried sooner rather than later.

However, he kept what Hazelton said in mind, how Sevastopol was not a high-priority location. It might take a few months. It might even take a year.

Over the next few weeks, Lingard gave Waits little slips of paper containing information on the computers she was finding evidence of Ransome's blackmailing on. Even Morley contributed once he learned of the plan. Overall, the plan felt like it was running smoothly.

Though the Marshals ran smoother, responded quicker, and were becoming more respected by the population of Sevastopol, Waits still felt like he wasn't doing enough. He knew things would not improve until he felt _everything_ was up to code, but he also knew he had to be patient. He knew he'd have to pray for a major crisis not to hit, because at the moment, he was lacking manpower, weapons, and gear. Plus, he was afraid the Bureau was going to rot from the inside. Someone among his men was a rat for Ransome, and he wasn't sure who.

Ricardo? Definitely not. Waits and Ricardo didn't always agree on things, and Waits felt Ricardo was too soft, but he didn't feel like Ricardo was a bad person looking to gain something by working with Ransome.

Harris? No. Harris was loyal, and confessed to Waits that he was happy some level of order had been restored to the Bureau.

Turner? Probably not. Questioned some of Waits's orders, but had also questioned Hazelton a few times. Waits could appreciate a thinker, though not when following instructions was crucial. Didn't make him a rat.

Garcia? No. Hard-working kid with a good disposition. Didn't strike Waits as someone who'd betray the Marshals.

That left Sterling and Ross.

Waits barely had any interactions with Sterling when he arrived on Sevastopol. He mostly stayed in the background, and he was almost always the Marshal to relieve Waits from his night shift in the morning. He was quiet, only speaking up when he felt it was necessary. When Waits took over the Bureau, Sterling didn't have anything to say about it, other than responses to what others said. He did what Waits asked, but there were moments throughout the day where Waits would catch Sterling staring at him from a dark corner of the room. He could appreciate someone who was quiet, but there were times where Waits wondered if Sterling was being a little too quiet.

Ross, on the other hand, wasn't quiet. He was quiet under Hazelton, but almost as soon as he found out Waits was named as Hazelton's replacement, he began his bitching and moaning. Of course, he didn't say anything that could get him in trouble. Part of Waits wondered why exactly Ross was so hostile. Was he working for Ransome, or was he just so sick and tired of being on Sevastopol that this was his way of expressing his frustration? He contemplated asking, but every time he approaching Ross, he got the impression that he just wasn't wanted.

So, Waits kept quiet about his plans to expose Ransome, and whoever else was working with him. He felt awful for keeping things from his own Marshals, but knew he had no choice. _This isn't just for Lingard's sake. This is for the whole of Sevastopol, _he thought.

As for his relationship with Lingard, Waits felt they were progressing steadily. Then again, he still hadn't said "I love you" yet, and it was killing him. He tried to say it on Valentine's Day, but he had been trembling so much that he dropped his beer bottle, spilling it all over the floor.

There was a day in late May where he tried again. The two were standing in the mall early in the evening, talking, when a song Lingard really enjoyed started playing over the radio, echoing throughout the empty space. She said it was something she hadn't heard since before leaving Earth for Sevastopol. So they stood there, enjoying the music and each other's company.

It was so sweet and romantic. The moment felt perfect. After kissing her, he took a breath, ready to say it, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye. To his left, there was Ransome, fully observing the two hugging and kissing.

Though he said nothing, Ransome's mere presence spoiled the moment. However, Waits was less afraid of him, less concerned with Ransome's feelings on the matter of his relationship with Lingard. So he let Ransome see him kiss Lingard full on the lips.

It was satisfying in a way, but, again, his "I love you" was foiled.

June marked Waits's first full year on Sevastopol. He couldn't believe he spent a whole year here. It wasn't his first time spending so much time away from Earth, away from a natural day-night cycle.

He missed the most mundane things, the things most would take for granted. Blue sky and clouds and the sound of wind. They began showing up in his dreams, and they all felt so real. He would see himself standing on the rocks along Cape Cod, salty breezes striking his face. The sky was gray.

It was lonely.

He was lonely.

Why was he lonely?

He emerged from his dream, sleep fading as he opened his eyes to the darkness of Lingard's apartment. He shut them again, a knot forming in his chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he let out a sigh.

"Bad dreams?" Lingard whispered, hugging him.

"Sorta." Waits turned to face her. "I dreamt I was out by the cape, just sitting on the rocks. It was nice to feel the ocean and the breeze, but . . . holy fuck was it lonely. It was almost a . . . a-a crushing feeling."

"Well, when we go back to Earth, you won't be alone."

"Yeah." He gave her a weak smile. "I'd appreciate that."

Lingard gave him a more genuine smile. "You know next month will be one year since we started seeing each other as, you know, more than friends, right?"

Waits nodded. "What about it?"

"One year is an achievement. Should we . . . celebrate?"

"If by 'celebrate,' you mean we go out to dinner and split the bill evenly, then . . . sure. I mean, there's not much here we can do to celebrate anything. I definitely don't want to go to that bar-nightclub again. I can't dance. Hell, I hate it."

"I know you do. And I know there's nothing to do." Lingard sighed. "Maybe we can get creative."

"How?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. When are the space merchants coming back?"

"One's supposed to come next week."

"Maybe they'll have something that'll give us an idea."

* * *

The night after a space merchant arrived at Sevastopol, Waits headed up to Lingard's apartment to talk about their plans for their anniversary next month. He knew something was up when she answered the door with tiny claw marks on her T-shirt, and gestured to them. "What . . . is-"

"Waits, I'd like you to meet somebody." A big smile on her face, Lingard went into the kitchen, and returned with a little gray bundle.

Waits resisted a smirk. "You got a cat."

"Yes. They had kittens on their ship, and this one kept looking at me for some reason."

"Uh-huh. Honey, you have a busy schedule. How the fuck are you gonna be able to take care of a kitten?"

"I can do it."

"OK. If you say so. What's its name?"

"They named him Patrick, and . . . he kinda looks like a Patrick, doesn't he?" Lingard held up the kitten, which looked at Waits with round eyes and folded little ears.

"If you wanna call him Patrick, I don't care. He's your cat."

"You could be a little more enthusiastic, Waits."

"Sweetheart, are you absolutely one-hundred-percent positive you can take care of animal?"

"It's the closest thing to a child I'm ever going to have. After you, of course."

Waits gave her a look. "I'm going to ignore that and move on. Did you . . . think of anything in terms of next month?"

"No. I think we'll stick with your idea of just going down to the grill and splitting the bill evenly."

"Alright. We're not taking the cat with us, though."

"No, of course not." Lingard gave Patrick a kiss before setting him down. "We'll come back here and play with him, though."

"Right. I doubt he likes me."

"Oh, stop. I think he'll like you. Just go sit with him in the living room while I finish setting up the litter box."

Waits shrugged, and looked down at the kitten. "I just hope you're not a troublemaker, because we don't have cells for cats down at the Bureau."

* * *

Waits couldn't help but agree with Lingard that this kitten would indeed be the closest thing they'd have to a child. A part of him wondered if this was what all late-in-life couples did-got a pet for the two of them to care for, since a human child was out of the question.

Patrick didn't seem to notice he was in space. All he cared about was that his humans provided a clean litter box and food and entertainment and a warm place to sleep. Like all cats, he had his preferred spots to lay when he didn't feel like chasing specks of light on the floor, and like all cats, one of his preferred spots was a massive inconvenience to his humans.

It probably wouldn't have come to be if Waits hadn't partially zipped up his jacket before sitting on the couch. The curious little kitten just saw a space that was dark and warm from his vantage point on Waits's shoulder. Digging his claws into Waits's shirt, Patrick climbed downward, flopping into the jacket.

Waits glanced down to see and feel the kitten kneading his belly. He grinned a little upon noticing Patrick had begun to purr, and then looked over at Lingard in the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart, come look at this," he whispered.

Lingard headed over to the couch, and looked inside Waits's jacket to see the kitten half-curled up and kneading. "I told you he'd like you."

"Yeah, yeah." Waits stroked the kitten's back, prompting Patrick to look up at him and purr more.

"And you like him, too."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Lingard gave him a look.

"Alright, alright, I'm kidding." Waits turned his gaze to Lingard. "I'm just happy this is making you happier."

"Not as happy as you make me." She smiled a little. "You don't feel like I'm replacing you, are you?"

"No. Just saying . . . it's nice seeing you happy."

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah. Well . . . things could be better, but . . . I'll take what I have." Waits leaned back, adjusting the cat against his belly. "I don't think it'll be too long before Sevastopol closes."

"We're all hoping."

* * *

_2137_

Months of silence passed. Nothing from Seegson. Nothing from Marshal Command. Waits spent another Thanksgiving and Christmas on the hapless station, and as the calendar rolled over to the new year, he found himself starting to worry. He felt like Hazelton was right when he said that Sevastopol was not a high-priority location.

_In time. It's just gonna take time. Just gotta stay patient._

Waits had accumulated a lot of evidence of Ransome's threats and blackmailing over the last year, and he knew this had to be enough to ship off to Command to get a case rolling. The only problem was getting it off the station, and the waiting was starting to hurt.

That wasn't the only thing he had to worry about, though. The head of Seegson Security, the same gentleman present during the nerve gas scare and was friendly with Waits over the last couple years, was going to leave Sevastopol. A man named Jake Sinclair was put in his place, and he didn't exactly give Waits a warm-fuzzy feeling. Not even a day after he arrived, he entered Waits's office.

"I was told you're the boss," Sinclair said, sparing any form of greeting or pleasantry. "Seegson Security's been moved to your office in Lorenz."

Waits looked up from a pile of arrest record sheets on his desk, taking a cigarette out of his mouth before giving Sinclair a dirty look. "I don't like practical jokes, son."

"This is not a joke. We got more people than you, and we need the space."

"Oh, really? I can clearly see you weren't taught any fucking manners at home. Now, if you came in here and _asked_ me to talk about letting Security use that office, I'd be glad to. But, no, you waltzed in, barged into my fucking office, and straight-up _told_ me your people are going to move into Lorenz. So, no, you're not having that office, son. Have a nice day."

"Deal's already been done. You can ask your own superiors about it." Sinclair didn't look impressed with Waits. "Both Seegson and the Marshals talked about it."

"I wasn't notified about this. They wouldn't go over my fucking head-"

"They already did. Ask them yourself."

The only movement in the room was from the smoke lazily swirling upward from Waits's cigarette. He refused to believe that he wasn't approached about this.

After dismissing Sinclair, Waits adjusted himself in his chair before activating a transmission channel to the Bureau on Gateway. He knew he was breaking his own plan of no messages to keep Ransome from hacking them, but this had nothing to do with Ransome, and it pissed him off greatly. After several minutes of waiting for the connection to go through, Jarendeno's face appeared on-screen.

"Waits! Good to see you," Jarendeno said.

Waits resisted a growl. "I'd like to know something. Who the fuck gave the OK to let Seegson Security take one of my offices without even talking to me about it?"

"Well, it wasn't me. I argued you had to be informed about this, but nobody listened to me. Someone within Seegson went right to us and told us that you're understaffed and not really using the office in the Systech Spire."

"If someone brought that up with me, I would've been happy to negotiate something. The fact that someone just went over my head is fucking ridiculous."

"I know, and I'm sorry about that. I would've sent a message out to you if I wasn't bogged down over here."

A sickening knot of rage tightened in Waits's stomach. He refused to direct his rage at Jarendeno, and instead turned in his chair, scowling at nothing in particular while taking in another breath of smoke. He let out his breath before turning back to the screen. "As if I needed another reason to fucking hate this place."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I do have some good news. Seegson _is_ planning on decommissioning Sevastopol soon. They haven't given a when, other than it will happen at some point this year."

"So, we're gonna go home?" Waits couldn't deny that did make him feel better.

Jarendeno smiled. "Yes. Like I said, no official announcement yet, but it will definitely happen this year."

"That's great. Really, it is. Hey, tell the guys on Gateway that I want a post there. I'll deal with the post-cryo illness, and I don't fucking care." Waits decided not to resist a smile. "This is great. Finally!"

"I'll put in a good word for you. They'll take you in a heartbeat with your extensive record. Hang tight, Waits, you're almost there."

* * *

_Question: What type of influence would Waits have had on Gorman growing up if he had survived Sevastopol?_

_Author's Note: "Burning Bridges" is now an audiobook. Chapter one has already been published to the Alien Theory Crew Quarters channel on YouTube. I read, and all sound and music is edited by Denal Douglas.  
_

_Patrick came from a note on Waits's calendar in Isolation. Denal and I couldn't figure out who Patrick is, so we figured he must be a pet, and since Waits doesn't strike me as the type to have pets of his own, we made Patrick to be Lingard's.  
_

_There are a lot of cool little pieces in Isolation when you explore._


	16. Chapter 16

_2175_

A gentle throbbing sensation that started deep within the center of his chest and pulsated throughout his body was the first thing Gorman felt when consciousness began to return. The throbbing was slow at first, then became faster as time passed. Then came the cold. The unbearable, bitter cold. His body was still too sluggish to jolt and try to escape it, nor could he rub his arms to generate some kind of heat. He heard the hissing of the cryotube opening, and then felt the rest of his senses start coming back to life.

He moved his head and neck first, then lay still for a moment, letting blood to continue to flow through his body. He gradually regained feeling in his torso, and felt his nerves start waking up in his legs, his shoulders, his arms, all the way down to his extremities. His left hand twitched, and he slowly closed it into a fist, unconsciously trying to further wake up the muscles and nerves inside. Releasing his breath, he did the same with his right hand, and relaxed both. He opened his eyes, blinking when the bright lights of the cryo chamber hit him. Then he sneezed.

"Bless you!" Towers called.

Gorman slowly sat up, groaning quietly and adjusting himself before pulling off the sticky vital recorders from his chest and abdomen. His body and mind were still moving at a slow pace. A few more minutes, and he'd be awake enough to command again.

He managed to stand and stretch, though he felt like the muscles in his legs had been replaced by ice. He stiffly walked over to a series of exercise bars inside the locker room. A Vent Rat couldn't afford to be stiff on a mission. He could feel blood returning to all corners of his body as he flexed his arms and legs to grab onto one of the bars above. Grunting and groaning, Gorman pulled himself up, feeling more nerves reactivate themselves. The ice in his legs seemed to melt.

Most Marines would do just simple pull-ups or push-ups or sit-ups to wake up their muscles. Gorman had to do more. He had to make sure he was flexible, able to crawl through a tight space with relative ease. He pulled himself up onto the bar, crouching on top of it, curving his spine. He felt a few pops, just joints relieving themselves of a three-week stiffness. Nothing to be worried about. Once he was moving again, he'd go back to being as silent as a cat in the shadows.

He sat on the bar, then fell backward, holding onto the bar with his knees. He hung upside-down, stretching downward, then bending both backwards and forwards.

"It really is tempting to poke your sides and see what happens," Towers said behind him.

"Well," Gorman grunted, "please, don't." He adjusted himself to get off the bar, and headed to his locker, Towers following him. She went behind him to get to her own locker, pulling out her camouflage trousers and occasionally glancing over her shoulder at Gorman as he dressed himself as well.

He remembered she expressed her nervousness about this being her first mission before they went into hypersleep. After zippering his pants, Gorman turned to face Towers as she tucked in her T-shirt. "Anything you wanna talk about before we get ready?" he asked.

Towers sat on the bench. "Um . . . not really. I'm still worried."

Gorman smiled at her reassuringly. "Do you have faith in me?"

"Yeah."

"Then I have faith in you. Remember what I told you. Listen to me, and your instincts. Everything will be fine."

* * *

The Marines marched off the _McAuliffe_ and onto the transitioning station known as Violet Rose. As they left the airlock, they stepped out into a massive, circular space. In the center was a fountain, glowing a deep purple color. Around the base of the fountain were the words "_Violet Rose, LV-510, est. 2144_." Signs glowed overhead, people walked around, carrying shopping bags and suitcases, or guns, if they were Marshals.

The shuttle wouldn't be ready to take them down to the Netrayas base for another few hours. Gorman allowed his squad to go explore if they wished, as long as they didn't cause trouble, and they had to be back a half-hour before the shuttle was scheduled to be ready. He watched them leave, some in groups, some alone. Only one didn't go, despite Wade asking if she wanted to.

Towers stayed with Gorman. She looked embarrassed to decline the invite from Wade, but stuck by it, following Gorman as he headed down to one of the cafés. She looked a little intimidated by the size and scale of the Violet Rose malls. Everything looked so fancy and high-end, yet so cozy and inviting at the same time.

"You came from a small town, didn't you?" Gorman said. "I know the look."

Towers nodded. "Southern Wisconsin. Real close to the border with Illinois. Farms everywhere. The town was probably exactly how you picture it. Couple busy-looking streets, but that was it. Very quiet most of the year."

"So it wasn't until very recently that you've been exposed to a city, or city-like environment."

Another nod.

Gorman held the door open for Towers when they came to café he found interesting. The two walked in, found a place to sit, and waited for someone to come over and take their orders. They were the only customers at the moment, seated at a half-circle booth and they could easily hear gentle jazz playing from an unseen radio.

"Kinda cold in here," Towers said, breaking the silence.

Without a word, Gorman unzipped his jacket, and handed it to her.

"Thanks." Towers put on the jacket, and left it open. A few minutes later, she closed it, and put the hood up before resting her head in her arms on the table.

"What's on your mind?" Gorman asked.

Towers shrugged. "Nothing."

"You know what you're doing is bad table manners, right?"

"I know." Towers lifted the hood a little, and sighed. "I used to do this whenever I got a chance to go out alone, because people would recognize me at a restaurant and remember that I was part of the big family with the kids who threw stuff and made a scene. It's a wonder we weren't banned from anywhere."

"Ah. And you hoped wearing a hooded jacket provided obscurity."

"Yeah."

Gorman nodded. "I understand." He fell silent, looking around at the café's decorations and photos of city streets ranging from the early twentieth century to today. Gorman's gaze settled on a panoramic picture of the Chicago skyline at night. His heart wrenched as he thought of Lydia. His dreams in cryo had indeed been pleasant, and peaceful. He tried to relive the afternoon they went up on a grassy hill with a couple of books, and lay under a lone tree. The hill offered a gorgeous view of the Chicago skyline against a cloudless blue sky.

They set out a picnic blanket in the shade of the tree. Gorman lay down first, on his back, then Lydia lay with him, using his stomach as a headrest. He couldn't recall how long they were there, but the time didn't matter. They were together, and happy, without a care in the world. They valued the little things, because that was sometimes all they had, given Gorman's job.

He didn't notice Towers was looking at him while he was lost in thought. She took off her hood and moved closer to Gorman when she saw that look on his face. She had seen that look on her fellow recruits in basic; the look of homesickness, of missing family. "You know, when you look sad, it makes everyone else sad," she said, moving ever so slightly closer to him. "You look like you're always thinking about something. Or someone."

"You would too, if you were in love."

Towers shrugged. "Do you think about anything else?"

"Yeah."

"I'm guessing you spend more time in your head than out of it."

"Could put it that way."

Towers kept staring at him after they both received their orders. She watched Gorman stir his coffee, then said, "I think that makes you a better friend."

"What does?" Gorman replied, not looking up from his drink.

"Thinking a lot more than talking. You always know what to say when you actually do say something. You don't just blurt something out that you might regret."

"Doesn't mean I haven't said or done anything that I regret."

Towers snorted. "You? I find that hard to believe."

"Ask anyone. We all have things we regret, whether it's something we did, or didn't do."

Towers moved her straw around in a blend of soft vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, and whipped cream. "I regret not having a better relationship with my mom. And my dad."

"I don't think it's too late to fix things," Gorman replied. "I'm sure once less kids are in the house, you'll be able to go and spend quality time with your parents."

"I hope so. Also hope I don't go home and find there's two more babies."

"Well, that'd be out of your control."

"Everything in that Goddamn house was out of my control. Even my own room, because I had to share it with two sisters. And they had no concept of boundaries. Everything that was mine was theirs, too. Never asked me for permission to read my books or play with my toys. I can still vividly remember the day I came home from school and found my . . . my floppy cat doll . . . and her head was partially off. She was the only thing I could salvage, only thing I took with me when I enlisted. I still have her, back on base. Still with a gaping hole in her neck."

"At least I can promise no one will touch your stuff while you're under my command." Gorman looked at Towers as she absentmindedly stirred her milkshake. "Here's an interesting question; how did you go through boot camp despite the fact that you had even less control there than you did at home?"

"Honestly, that is a good question," Towers sighed. She glanced at him. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Anything."

"I made the meanest DI quit. He couldn't figure out why or how his stuff kept getting messed with, and the day after he threw a fit on us, he didn't come back. Someone else was in his place."

"I kinda figured that was you when Valen told me there was a rumor you made an instructor quit."

"Yeah, if you hadn't guessed that by now, I'd . . . I'd be questioning your intelligence."

Gorman smirked. "Wasn't all that hard to figure out. And I won't tell anyone, I promise." He winked at her.

Towers finally grinned back, and took a sip of her milkshake. "Thanks." She fell silent again, and then stared into space. "Nice to have someone to keep your secrets."

"Always is."

Towers's grin faded, and her face paled. She held the straw between her fingers, but didn't move it as she looked down at the table.

Gorman gave her a concerned look. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just . . . you know . . . afraid . . . this mission'll go horribly wrong, and you're . . ."

"Towers? Look at me, young lady." He spoke gently. When she looked at him, he held out his hand. "Go ahead, take it." He waited as Towers took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it. "Everything will be OK. Like I said before, listen to my orders, follow your instincts, and have faith in your own abilities. You can be a real pain-in-the-ass, but I don't think you would've moved on from basic if you didn't have the skills to be a good Marine. And, never forget this . . . _it's OK to be scared_. Trust me, I'm a little scared for you right now, because this is, of course, your first mission."

"You're not worried about yourself?"

"No. I know what I'm doing. I've done this before. My worry is on you, and everyone else."

* * *

_2137_

Waits sprinted to San Cristobal to tell Lingard the good news that they were going to finally leave Sevastopol behind soon. He refused to wait. This was just too good. Their dreams were going to come true.

As he stood in the transit car, heart pounding with excitement, a thousand thoughts and hopes raced across his mind. An apartment together was within reach. Getting rid of Ransome was within reach. Total happiness together was within reach.

There was something else, though. Something akin to total happiness. The next step.

_Marriage?_

Waits let the word come to mind. He wasn't afraid of it. He felt ready for it. Sure, he was ready, but was Lingard? She had been through it twice, and both were failures.

There would be no failure with Waits. Never. He would always be loyal to her. No one else in the universe could give him what she had. And he loved her. She loved him. Tying the knot felt like the next logical step.

He kept this to himself. A part of him wanted to surprise her, while another part wanted to talk about it with her. He argued with himself in his mind until the transit stopped at SciMed Tower, where he decided he would keep this a secret. He would surprise her with a ring at some point later on.

He was definitely not telling Morley. Morley would run off and tell everyone in the hospital, even the patients in comas. Waits knew, though, that Morley would probably be his first choice as best man for the wedding, once he knew of course. He couldn't think of anyone else who would be right for the job. Aside from his sister and Lingard, Waits didn't have anyone else he felt like he could confide in. Despite his quirks and his incredibly high energy, Morley was someone who looked to the bright side of things and had well-thought-out advice for everything. How he managed to stay positive all these years, Waits would never know.

It was tempting to talk about it, though, and thinking about every little detail made him feel so young. It would be the best day of their lives. He was ready to experience it. He was ready to get down on one knee and ask the woman he loved with every part of his heart to be his wife.

Waits entered the hospital and headed straight to Lingard's office. Nothing had been officially announced, yet he was more excited and happy than he had been in years. He knew this would make her happy, too. "Sweetheart," he said, after closing the door behind him, "I've got some good news."

Lingard gave him a look. "Usually, when you say that, it's something on the ridiculous side, like you remembered to take your clothes out of mine before I took it down to the laundromat."

"I only forgot one time, and, no, it's not ridiculous. You're gonna want to brace yourself." Waits sat across from her. "I was just told by Jarendeno that Seegson will be closing down Sevastopol at some point this year."

"You're kidding. Get out."

"I'm serious." He reached over to squeeze her hand. "We're gonna get outta here. I already told Jarendeno to get me a post on Gateway. Can you believe it? We're actually getting out of this miserable place and starting a new life together, where we don't have to be scared of anyone. Oh, that reminds me, when we get closer to the day we have to leave, we'll compile those documents we found on Ransome. I'll store them somewhere safe and give them to the head Marshal on Gateway."

"Waits, I don't know what to say. This is incredible!" Lingard leaned over the desk to hug him. "I love you so much."

"Keep this between us, OK? We still don't know when this'll actually be announced." He kissed her. "And don't get reckless."

"I won't."

Their little passionate moment was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. "Lingard?" Morley said, sounding panicked. "We have a bit of a situation."

Lingard let go of Waits to open the door. "What's going on?"

Morley was pale, and walked inside, squeezing his hands together. "We're . . ." He paused, noticing Waits. "Well, perhaps it'd be better he hears this. Um . . ." Morley sighed heavily, rubbing his face, "we're . . . running low on various medications."

"What exactly are we running low on?"

"Anesthetics, antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, pain meds, you name it. Everything. The mood pills are at their worst, though. I don't know what the hell Kuhlman needs so many for."

"I can imagine people go a little nuts when they're here for too long," Waits muttered.

Morley swallowed hard. "This is bad. I don't know how long we'll be able to-"

"Seegson's gonna close the station in a few months," Waits said. "Do you have enough to last at least until December?"

"I don't know. If I can ration them without jeopardizing the health of the patients, maybe. That would require talking to Kuhlman, and he's been increasingly . . . scarce."

Waits sighed. "If Command's not gonna send weapons, we might not be able to get meds in."

"The Space Medical Federation operates differently. We can't wait until Seegson sends out a notification about closing Sevastopol."

"Where's their nearest outpost?"

"Gateway."

"They'll take three weeks to get out here."

"What about the Marines?"

"They're three weeks out, too."

"We need something. Someone. Anything." Morley's face was whiter than fresh-fallen snow.

"Morley, I'll do what I can," Waits said. "Just . . . don't get upset with me if you can't get what you need. Hopefully, we'll hear something from Seegson sooner rather than later. You two run San Cristobal the way you see fit. If you have to start rationing, do it. I don't have a lot of men left, but if you need someone to put down a riot, call me." Waits looked at Lingard. "I don't want you getting hurt."

* * *

_Question: How have Gorman and Towers shown that they balance each other out?_


	17. Chapter 17

_2175_

The lush, tropical region of Netrayas had been a popular tourist destination ever since the Marines established a base there. It had been devoid of civilians for almost a decade after the base's construction, allowing time for the Marines and a group of scientists to study the area and determine how safe it was. The coastal regions were well-guarded. The interior was considered hell by any Marine who had to take a tour of duty in there. The jungle was dense, humid, and from floor to canopy was full of extraterrestrial wildlife, some dangerous in their own way.

The mountains in the center of the region were a prime target for any hostile force looking to hide, and that was where Gorman and his squad were headed.

The flight to the interior would be long, and the Marines would be dropped off over a mile away from the abandoned Seegson complex. Once they were in position, Gorman and Towers would go ahead of everyone, in search of a vent cover on the side of the building. Then Gorman would shed his armor to go inside.

Everything under Gorman's armor was soft, to minimalize noise when he was inside the vents. His dogtags were taped down to his chest, and everything metal was covered to keep it from jingling or scratching anything. His pistol was tightly secured in a holster and fitted with a suppressor. Every piece of gear was carefully and meticulously tied down and silenced. Nothing Gorman hadn't done before.

After they were all loaded into an APC and driven onto a dropship, Gorman allowed his mind to wander a little, and it settled on Towers's worry. It truly was strange to him that the young Marine had hated him not that long ago, and now she cared for him deeply. All it had taken was really talking to her and seeing that there was something else going on beneath her surface. All it took was someone caring about her in a way she probably hadn't experienced before.

Towers sat close to Gorman, holding her seat brace tightly as the dropship wavered and shook. She looked up at him. "You really think taking me with you is a good idea?"

"If I had any doubts, I wouldn't have asked you to come with me," Gorman replied. "All I ask is that you trust me."

"That I can do."

"Good. Thanks."

"No problem, Gunny."

He smiled, putting his hands on the seat brace, hoping he could boost her confidence. He had decided to switch her and Maxie around for that mission, having the medtech go with Wade instead. "You've got a lot of success here. You made the right choice joining us."

Towers didn't respond, but she slid her fingers through her brace to touch his.

"Everything'll be OK. Just trust me."

* * *

_2137_

Even as life on Sevastopol slowly grew worse, Waits would spend what little free time he had thinking about proposing to Lingard, thinking about saying his vows, thinking about what those vows meant. All his life, he knew wedding vows were something sacred. A promise. A promise of love and loyalty. He knew some people broke them far too easily, men and women alike. He could never understand why some ran into marriage so quickly. Perhaps they felt it was just an item on their bucket list, to stand at the alter and have a big, overblown party celebrating the fact that, well, they stood at an alter and had rings put on their fingers. Celebrating nothing. The couple would split not too soon after.

Not him. Waits could never fathom the idea of marrying someone just to say he did it. What would that say about him? It would make him a lowlife, a garbage human being, no better than Ransome.

Perhaps that was why it took so long for him to find the right person. He wanted someone he knew he could keep those vows with. He wanted someone he knew would keep those vows with him.

He didn't know who Lingard wanted at her wedding, but he knew his guest list would be pretty small. He was perfectly content with inviting just his sister, his brother-in-law, his nephew, and his nephew's wife. Four people was enough. Maybe he could invite Jarendeno and his wife. Their kids were too young, and the last thing he wanted was someone suddenly throwing a fit in the middle of the vows.

And then there'd be Morley, and just Morley as his entourage. He didn't need any groomsmen.

Whoever Lingard wanted to bring, she could bring. Waits wanted her to be happy.

He realized he was getting ahead of himself. A part of him didn't think Lingard would be opposed to the idea of marrying him, but he could understand if she was hesitant because of two bad past experiences. _I really should talk to her about this before I get a ring._

After locking up the Bureau for the night, Waits headed over to San Cristobal. Lingard had been staying later and later at the hospital, trying to keep track of everything with Morley. He heard they were doing alright with most of their medication in the dispensary. It was primarily the antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills that were disappearing quickly, and they couldn't figure out what Kuhlman was doing. He gave them the same story every time; rumors leaked out about Sevastopol closing, so people were starting to lose themselves as they waited impatiently for the news to become official.

Waits couldn't deny that. He figured Sterling may have been the one to tell people what he heard from Waits's conversation with Jarendeno a few weeks ago. Or, Sterling told Ransome, and Ransome was the one spreading it. Regardless, he had seen people start to become impatient, and depressed. One of the comms engineers was found in the lower mall, distraught, upset, stuck in the recesses of his brain. Though the man wasn't actually suicidal, someone panicked and thought he was, immediately calling the Marshals. Waits ordered everyone to just stand back and let him handle the engineer one-on-one.

He had a vague memory of seeing this same man somewhere on this station. Then again, he had seen everyone on this station at least once, and everyone had seen him multiple times. Everyone knew who he was at this point. He liked being known by everyone, but at the same time, he liked being in the background. Regardless, Waits and this engineer talked. They talked as men, just two human beings. Waits was able to convince him to feel a little more hopeful, less anxious, less impatient.

Like Morley said, sometimes all people needed was someone to talk to. But Waits couldn't talk to every patient, and he knew there were some patients who needed a lot more than a talking-to. For some, they really needed the pills. Waits just hoped this didn't become a bigger issue down the road.

He stepped out of his thoughts when he arrived at San Cristobal. It was dark. Waits had been there for two years, but would never get used to the discomforting darkness and emptiness. As he entered the hospital lobby, he glanced around, still loathing the nervousness that had come over him. He headed down to Lingard's office, and found her sitting at her desk, looking exhausted.

She glanced up from her papers and computer. "Yes?" There was no happiness at seeing Waits. In fact, there was no emotion at all. She was that tired.

"You should go up to bed, honey," Waits said, softly.

"Can't. Shouldn't."

Waits sighed. "Please? You need sleep."

Lingard didn't respond, so Waits remained where he was, arms folded over his chest. A minute later, she turned off her computer, and shoved her papers in a folder before grabbing her bag. She stood up, looking at Waits with a tired expression. She looked like she was about to cry.

"I'll take you home," Waits said, softly. He held out his hand, and she took it, squeezing it tightly. He held her hand all the way back to the transit, refusing to let go for anything. She needed him right now.

When they boarded the transit, Lingard looked a little more relieved, but she said nothing, and she remained quiet until they stopped at the habitation towers. "People really are getting desperate," she whispered. "I don't know what to do half the time . . . anymore." Tears rolled down her face.

"I'm guessing you're dealing with people hurting each other over this," replied Waits.

Lingard nodded. "I don't understand what's going on. I think . . . other supplies are starting to run out."

"A lot of businesses left last year, and I almost got shot dealing with looters. I told the store owners not to leave anything behind."

"I know. I was worried about you."

The two became quiet again until they got to the elevator. Waits let out his breath, and looked down at Lingard. "Mind if I . . . talk to you about something?"

"Sure."

Waits paused, composing himself. "Alright . . . what do you think about . . . us getting married?"

"You and me, getting married?"

"Yes."

Lingard fell silent. "I wouldn't be opposed to it. Why? Are you . . . thinking about-"

"Yes." Waits blushed.

"Well, I'd . . ." Lingard gave him a small smile. "I would say 'yes' to you."

"You're not, you know, concerned because of your past two marriages?"

She shook her head. "You've proven that you're nothing like any of my previous relationships. I would like to spend the rest of my life with you as my husband."

A sense of relief flooded Waits. "Alright. I guess . . . now we should wait until we get to Gateway, and . . . then I'll surprise you." He grinned at her.

"Yeah. I look forward to it, and seeing you of all people on one knee, asking those four precious words."

"That'll be a sight to behold."

"And it'll be the best sight to behold. I won't have any second guesses."

"I would hope not, but . . . if you're afraid of anything, tell me."

"I promise, I will."

* * *

_2175_

The dropship struggled to find a clear spot to land with the dense jungle spreading as far as the eye could see. They would have to land a bit farther off than originally calculated. Once on the ground, the APC left, driving down a road leading up to the old Seegson facility. The road was steadily becoming overgrown and tough to navigate. Gorman stood up and held onto the ceiling to steady himself after feeling the APC leave the dropship.

Dunewall was driving, giving Gorman regular updates on what was going on. Suddenly, the APC halted. Gorman turned to face Dunewall. "Why'd you stop?"

"The vegetation really clears up here. If there's anyone in that facility, they'll see us coming from their point on the hill," Dunewall replied.

Gorman sighed. "Alright, new plan. Towers and I leave here. The rest of you will get into position as discussed on base, but stay hidden in the thick brush. Go around the path we established beforehand." He gestured for Towers to follow him after adjusting his helmet.

The two left the APC, stepping out into the heavy heat and humidity of the jungle. Gorman disappeared into the bushes, Towers close behind. "Stay low," he whispered.

"Got it, Gunny," Towers whispered back.

They slunk through the dense vegetation. Sweat ran down their faces, gradually soaking into their BDUs. Towers glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to Gorman's back.

Gorman abruptly paused, and knelt. "Get down," he hissed.

Towers obeyed. "What's going on?"

Gorman was watching two armed men walking the perimeter beneath the hill. "That's not good," he said. "Almost confirms what the general feared. Ex-Seegson employees have turned to organized terrorism." He turned to Towers. "Keep in mind that not everyone here is former Seegson. That's impossible. There are probably hired mercs crawling all over. Not the kind of people you want to fuck around with. Stay close to me." Gorman continued moving forward. He paused again, waiting for the two guards to pass.

"Why don't we shoot 'em?" Towers asked.

"If we don't hit them both square in the skull, we'd attract unwanted attention. There's no guarantee we could hit them, so just don't do it. Besides, this is a recon mission, not an attack. We'll only shoot in self-defense."

They waited for five drawn-out minutes, then began moving up the hill. The two were shrouded by more trees and bushes. Once they were up against the wall of the massive building, they began searching for a vent cover.

Towers gave Gorman a terrified look when they found a huge cover, and began removing the screws with a small drill. This was where they would separate.

Gorman set the screws on top of the vent cover on the ground, and looked at Towers as he removed his armor. "Keep watch over this, OK? We'll be in contact through the radio."

Nodding, Towers took a deep breath as she was handed the individual pieces of Gorman's armor. "Please be careful," she said.

"Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself while you're out here. Keep me updated on things." Gorman removed his helmet, and adjusted his headset. "Seal me in once I'm inside."

"OK." Towers took the helmet. She watched Gorman crawl into the vent, then placed the cover over it, anxiously letting out her breath as she put the screws back in.

Gorman could hear the drill working behind him as he stared down the dark shaft. He put on his night-vision goggles, and began slowly moving forward. At the end of the shaft, he could take a right or left turn. Right would take him to the building's lobby. Left would take him to the server farm and computer labs.

It would be a long way. Gorman would be crawling through hundreds, maybe thousands of feet worth of vent, and he had been in far bigger systems than this one. It was just another maze today. Another long, complex, tight maze.

He was slow and cautious with his movements, trying to keep noise to a minimum. The shaft narrowed as he continued his way through, and he had to adjust himself a little, especially when crawling downward vertically. Gorman could tell from the way sounds echoed that he was now under a floor, and there was a light shining downward through a grate. He stopped moving when a shadow passed over the grate. Immediately, he switched off his headset, and lifted his goggles.

The guard didn't suspect a thing. He walked around the grate, but didn't bother looking inside. Gorman was hidden within the shadows. Everything that could shine on his uniform had been blacked out. The only thing he couldn't black out were his eyes. Any light shone into the vent, in his direction, would glint off his eyes.

Gorman could hear the guard walking above him, watch his shadow break the bars of light from the grate. He quietly released his breath as he realized the guard either wasn't leaving, or was taking his time with doing so. His heart beat wildly, and he could only pray that the guard above couldn't hear it.

Finally, the guard turned and walked away from the grate. Without hesitation, Gorman slunk forward, safe in the darkness and silence. The shape of the shaft continued to change. It grew flatter. He had to crawl through over thirty feet of this flat shaft until he reached a vertical shaft he needed to climb up.

It was impossible for Gorman to get on his knees. He slowly moved through the vent on his belly, trying to breathe evenly. He could feel the top of the vent against his shoulder blades. He could feel his heart pounding against the bottom of the vent.

He couldn't breathe a sigh of relief just yet when he came to the vertical shaft. Heart still racing, Gorman had to turn onto his back in order to crawl up into the shaft. There was dead silence, aside from his breathing. He tried to control it, not wanting the sound to echo through the shaft. Sound traveled fast in vents. Even the slight sound of liquid moving in his stomach as he turned his body was too audible for him to be comfortable. _Go slower._

He took a breath, struggling to keep it calm and quiet after being in the flat, cramped shaft. He gradually moved himself into a sitting position in the next vent, feeling his stomach contents settle. Sure, he was less afraid than others of being in such small places, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid at all. Once inside a vent-any vent-he knew there was no going back. He didn't enlist to quit.

After taking roughly thirty seconds to breathe, Gorman stood for the first time in hours. His next step was climb up, take a left, and continue on to the server farm.

* * *

_2137_

Desperation among those still living on Sevastopol was becoming more and more palpable. Waits could sympathize, but his sympathy all but faded when word of a black market began to circulate, and it definitely made matters worse when he found out Seegson Security under Sinclair was less than helpful.

Sinclair and Waits didn't have very many interactions, even less so when Waits took charge of the Bureau, and it didn't go unnoticed that Sinclair seemed to resent Waits as the new head of the Marshals. Unlike Hazelton, Waits had a low tolerance for insubordination, slacking off, and overall bullshit. He inspected things more often, and more carefully. It didn't take long for Waits to figure out how black market items were getting past inspection and quarantine.

Seegson Security guards outnumbered the Marshals. Waits knew it could potentially end poorly if he sent one or two men down to the Spaceflight Terminals to inspect all incoming ships. He couldn't afford to stretch his forces so thinly, especially when they were struggling to confiscate illegal goods on board Sevastopol.

Waits sacrificed sleep, meals, and time with Lingard to perform rounds himself, and it inevitably took a toll on him. It wasn't until September when the message finally came through from Seegson; Sevastopol was closing. Everyone except the most vital of personnel-Security, maintenance, and medical-had to leave. The Marshals, though not bound by Seegson, also had to stay. They would be the last to leave.

No time was wasted in getting transports ordered to Sevastopol and individual flights organized. Those going to Gateway and LV-510 would arrive quickest, in three weeks. It pained Waits that he and Lingard wouldn't be joining the civvies headed to Gateway, but he had no choice here. The people all came first.

What should have been a joyous occasion was wrought with frustration for Waits.

There was a night where he couldn't remember when he had last laid down, and gave loud moan when he collapsed next to Lingard. "How many more days till all the transports arrive, honey?"

"You're the one keeping track of them, Waits," Lingard replied with a yawn.

"That's right, I am." Waits rubbed his face. "I think . . ." he groaned again, "two weeks. Goddammit. Two whole fucking weeks. Then we gotta wait another two or three weeks for transports headed to further colonies. And _then_ we can go."

"So, over a month," Lingard said.

"Maybe longer." Waits sighed. "My back hurts."

"Well, we don't have a lot of pain meds left, sweetie. Got nothing for you."

"That's OK. I'll live." A short moment passed, then Waits opened his arms. "Now come snuggle. I haven't seen you in awhile."

Lingard moved closer to Waits, who gave her a tight squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

"I missed you," Waits whispered.

"I missed you, too," Lingard said.

"We're almost there. Feels like it'll take forever, but soon, we'll be on Gateway. I'll be puking everywhere, and you'll be taking care of me-"

"And I'll be waiting for you to get on one knee to ask that special little question."

"Yes. Yes, you will." Waits nuzzled her. "You haven't said anything to Morley, have you?"

"You'd know if I said something to Morley, because Morley . . . is Morley."

"Well, I want the quirky shit to be my best man. I owe him that much."

Lingard grinned. "You do. I'd be disappointed if he wasn't involved somehow." She turned on her side to face him, looking a little happier now that they were discussing a lighter topic. "Any ideas for a wedding?"

"You're gonna be the bride. You're supposed to plan the whole thing."

"No. You should help." Her grin faded. "I kinda ruined my dream wedding."

"Wasted it on your first husband?"

She nodded.

"What if you tried again? Only thing you change is the groom."

"I'll think about it." Lingard let out a quiet sigh, reaching over to ruffle Waits's hair. "It would be nice to have you as the groom. I feel like you'd actually keep your focus on me and not . . . not . . ."

"It's a wedding. I will never, ever take those vows for granted. And that's a promise I can keep."

* * *

_Question: How might the events of "Ice Star" have gone differently if Towers was part of the squad sent to LV-426?_


	18. Chapter 18

_2175_

Gorman approached the vent grate in the wall of the complex's enormous server farm. He cursed in his head when he saw the trousers of two guards standing in front of the cover, and moved backward into the shadows. His heart skipped a beat each time a guard shifted, but he stayed, listening.

The guards didn't say a word. Gorman tried to remember the map of the vent system. His brain was fuzzy from crawling around in so much dust for the last few hours. He moved further back, realizing how little oxygen he had in his system.

He needed to pace himself, and take a moment to breathe, and think. His thoughts began swimming in the still and stagnant water that was his brain at the moment.

His thoughts turned to fresh air. Fresh, cool, morning air. His thoughts turned to the honeymoon cabin, southwest of Dublin. Every morning was fit to photograph. Every position on that little hill gave a perfect view of the surrounding landscape. Gorman wished they could have stayed longer.

Lydia. His thoughts turned to Lydia.

Every morning they woke up together was the best morning, especially in the cozy bedroom of that Irish cabin. It was a blend of modern commodities and traditional style, kept up by a little old groundskeeper who lived on his own in a small house at the base of the hill. It was nice to just lay with each other and snuggle in the early morning hours, when it was cold and the coffee wasn't ready yet.

"Good morning, darling," Gorman whispered, kissing his new bride on the cheek.

"Good morning," Lydia replied, putting her arms around her new husband's neck. "How'd you sleep?"

"Wonderful." Gorman moved onto his back. "First day of our honeymoon, and first day of being married."

"Nothing has changed aside from the fact that we wear rings now. And that we made a big promise to each other."

"I made that promise a long time ago, when I knew you were the one."

"Scott, that was kinda cheesy."

Gorman smirked. "I know, but you still love me."

The longing to experience that little moment again was so intense that an ache started up in Gorman's chest. He returned to the darkness of the vent. If he wanted to see Lydia again, he needed to complete this mission.

He took one more breath to realign his thoughts, then silently crept back over to the vent grate.

A sudden hiss and a screech made his blood freeze.

* * *

_2137_

For a moment, Waits felt as if the storm was lifting. He personally made sure everyone boarded their assigned transports when they arrived at Sevastopol. The Spaceflight Terminals were at their busiest, and there were no breaks for anyone that day. It felt good to be leading this.

One trip down, two more to go. The next two flights scheduled to arrive were those headed to other colonies, and the medical ships.

"We should have nothing but smooth sailing from now till mid-November," Waits told Lingard and Morley when he met the two doctors in San Cristobal's break room. "We'll miss Thanksgiving, but we should reach Gateway before Christmas."

"I just wish the med ships had arrived first," Morley said. "We've got patients that are hard to move."

"I told you in my message that you might have to put some in early hypersleep."

"We don't have enough portable cryotubes."

Waits groaned and rubbed his face. "Then let the guys on the med transports handle it. I'm sure they have plenty of supplies."

Lingard looked at Morley. "Wanna tell him what we found?"

Waits gave them both a hard look.

Morley had to sit before speaking. "We found out . . . why we're being depleted of mood pills. Kuhlman's not doling them out like candy. He's . . . taking them for himself." Morley looked down at the table, as if he was responsible for this happening, even though he wasn't.

"Asshole's addicted to them, then," Waits said.

"Most likely. We're working to change the code for the dispensary. I-I know there's no point anymore, but . . . I don't know." Morley clenched his fists, and covered his face.

"This is almost over, Doc." Waits reached over to shake Morley's shoulder. When he didn't get a response, he kept his hand on Morley. "Hey. What's the matter? Doc, it's not your fault Kuhlman took all those pills. Don't beat yourself up about it. We're gonna leave this all behind."

* * *

It was early November, and they were still waiting for ships. Waits anxiously awaited messages, day in, and day out. It must've been past ten when he realized he was completely alone in the Bureau, staring at previous messages sent from the transport captains.

He could feel his body begging for sleep. A fuzzy feeling was beginning to creep over his brain. His eyelids were heavy. Yet he couldn't bring himself to quit for the night.

His eyes finally left the screen when he noticed someone at the door of the Bureau. Lingard knocked on the glass, and Waits pressed a button to let her in. She walked over to his desk, and whispered, "You need some sleep."

"Do I?" Waits muttered, his gaze returning to the computer in front of him.

"Yes. You do this for me all the time. My turn to do it for you."

Waits didn't react right away, prompting Lingard to give an annoyed sigh. "God, Waits, you're so slow." She watched him take his time with shutting down his computer, then tugged his cap. When he didn't respond, she yanked it, again, and again, until he shut down the computer and stood up.

Lingard waited until the doors were closed and locked before taking Waits's hand. Waits glanced at her, feeling more and more tired as they walked away from the Bureau. He still had the strength to adjust his grip on Lingard's hand. He would always have the strength for that.

Despite the fuzziness in his brain, Waits began thinking about his journey with Lingard so far. Two years and a few months ago, they had just been friends, brought together through hardship, bonding in their loneliness. In time, they realized they weren't lonely anymore. They had each other. Somehow, those feelings blossomed.

He had been a stranger. Lingard knew just about everyone on Sevastopol. Somehow, no one else impressed her like he had. She could count on him. He could count on her.

When they were in the darkness of Lingard's apartment, lit only by the distant sun beyond KG-348, Waits tried to imagine that was Earth instead of the orange and bronze gas giant. In a few weeks, it would be, and they'd be in a much nicer apartment than this one. And, perhaps, Lingard would be wearing an engagement ring.

As he stared, he became aware of Lingard hugging him, and, despite his tiredness, he smiled at her.

"You're so worn out," she whispered. "Go to sleep."

"Kiss first," he whispered back.

"OK."

There was almost complete silence, aside from their breathing, which was interrupted when their lips touched.

"I love you," Lingard said when they pulled apart.

"Thanks." Waits paused, and swallowed. He realized he was fucking up a chance to say "I love you" back. He didn't want to mess it up, especially since he never said it before.

After getting a shower, he joined Lingard in her bedroom. He figured he needed to say it now. He lay next to her, moving her kitten, Patrick, out of his way. "Hey, sweetheart?" he said, softly. "I love you, too."

She didn't respond, as she was fast asleep.

Waits cursed himself as he put his head on the pillow. _At least I know I can say it._

* * *

A medical transport finally arrived several days later. Waits was relieved as he watched Morley assist in getting several patients on board. This whole ordeal was almost over.

The veterinary technicians offered to take residents' pets out with them, so Lingard put Patrick in his carrier and handed him off. The vets would be able to take care of the animals if any issues arose from cryosleep.

"I just hope we leave soon, so Patrick isn't alone on Gateway for very long," Waits said when he heard the news.

"You really can't say you don't love that cat," Lingard replied, grinning.

"Keep that between us."

Things fell silent again for another few days. They were almost two weeks into November when Waits was notified of a ship approaching Sevastopol. For a moment, he thought it was another transport coming to pick up the remaining civilians, but upon opening the transmission, he saw it wasn't. It was a smaller vessel, and not listed among those scheduled to be sent to the station.

Waits ran a check over the ship's name and number. He couldn't remember any ship called the _Anesidora_, nor was it registered for anything at Sevastopol. _Probably lost._ Waits sighed before opening a channel to the ship's captain.

A man calling himself Marlow was requesting to dock, claiming he had the flight recorder of the _Nostromo_, a ship that had gone missing about fifteen years ago. Waits could remember when the _Nostromo_ disappeared. All he heard was that it never came back with a massive ore shipment, and that no one knew where exactly it went missing. That flight recorder would prove useful. He could hand it over to Gateway and let an investigative team play with it to find out what happened.

Then again, if this guy had the recorder, what about the rest of the ship? If the flight recorder was the only thing found, it was likely the _Nostromo_ was destroyed. _Probably a bad accident,_ Waits thought. Terrible for sure, and the crew's loved ones had a right to know what happened.

Waits cussed to himself when he remembered Seegson's protocol about taking a financial cut of anything a salvage crew brought to Sevastopol. He'd have to remind Marlow of that, even though it seemed pointless now, with the station decommissioning. Of course, it was possible Ransome would squeal about it once they were all off the station, and Seegson would hound Waits until they saw that money.

Unenthusiastically, Waits responded to Marlow, reluctantly letting part of his crew board Sevastopol.

Sitting back, something squirmed in his gut. Some bad feeling. Dread. Something terrible was going to happen. He paused to listen to that feeling. Right now, he wanted to dismiss it. He was so close to getting out of here. He was so close to a new life, something better.

This would be simple. He'd discuss payment of the flight recorder with Marlow-no, he'd let Ransome handle that. After all, the cut was Seegson's policy, not Waits's. The _Anesidora_ would leave. Everything would be fine at the end of the day.

* * *

_2175_

Something smashed against the vent cover. Gorman kept moving back. The screeching continued, then he heard the voice of one of the guards outside.

"What the hell is his problem? Get back here. Heel!" the guard shouted.

"He smells something in the vent," another voice said. "Take the cover off and have a look."

Gorman got back around a corner, freezing when the beam of a flashlight split the darkness. He watched the light move, hoping and praying it didn't catch a shadow. His blood ran colder and colder.

"I'm not seeing anything," the second guard said, leaving the vent. "Probably heard or smelled a mouse or something. You know these animals aren't all that trained yet."

The first guard sighed before tugging on the leash of the creature. Gorman hadn't seen what it was, and he was afraid that if he did, his mission would have been screwed.

He waited a few more minutes, wanting to make sure the coast was clear. Then he crawled past the vent cover.

He realized he hadn't spoke to anyone in his unit in some time. It was too dangerous. He wished he could update them, but he trusted Valen to command them while he was out. He wished he could update Towers.

Gorman couldn't imagine how Towers must be feeling. He felt terrible for not being able to tell her that he was OK. It hurt, but he knew the only way to get back to her sooner was to complete the mission.

Climbing up another shaft, Gorman could hear the loud hum of fans in the server farm. He was getting close.

He lifted his night-vision goggles when he saw light coming from a vent cover. This was it. Just get in, search the computers for any plans of terrorism, and leave.

Gorman slowly and silently began removing his tools from their pouches, then paused when he noticed something moving outside the vent. He was near the ceiling, giving him a good view of the large room. A maze of servers hid whatever guards were in there, but Gorman could see two standing in a small area full of computer monitors. He only needed to get to one screen.

He watched the two guards. One stood in the center of the computers, a rifle in hand. He would turn occasionally, but otherwise didn't stray too far from that one spot. The second guard paced, holding the same weapon as his comrade.

Gorman had to take off the vent cover without them noticing. A challenge, yes, but not impossible. He watched the two guards, getting a feel for any patterns they might have. Then a third entered the area. He said something to the two that Gorman couldn't hear, and they all walked away. To where, Gorman didn't know, and didn't care, because he knew he might not have a lot of time to get this done. He uncovered a small torch, then pulled his undershirt over his face to protect from sparks when he set the torch against the edge of the metal cover.

A loud _bang_ echoed through the room as the metal warped and shifted and the cover could no longer fit against the opening of the shaft. Gorman froze, thin trails of smoke swirling around him.

"What was that?" someone said.

Shutting off the torch, Gorman scrambled backward, dragging the now-loose vent cover with him. He covered the torch and slid it back in its pouch.

"Probably maintenance in the next room," another guard said. "Always making noise over there."

"Good point. Hey, go tell Caz and Tevi to get back from their lunch break. Two sons-of-bitches always take forever."

Gorman had to wait for the edges of the vent to cool down, not wanting to accidentally burn himself while crawling out. He cursed under his breath when the two other guards re-entered the area.

"Asshole thinks he can rush us," one of them was muttering.

"Just shut it and get back to your post, Tevi," the other said, sounding like he had heard this before.

"Right. Get back to pacing endlessly. Worst shift on the whole damn base."

Gorman watched them return to their previous spots. Caz went back to standing in the middle, while Tevi went back to pacing. He watched, and waited.

He slunk forward, and waited until Caz was almost under him. He let one heartbeat pass, then two, then draw his knife.

There was silence until Gorman landed on top of Caz. He brought the man down while driving the thin blade of the knife into the base of Caz's neck. Blood sprayed and pooled beneath him as Gorman severed the jugular vein.

"Jesus Christ!" Tevi raised his rifle. Gorman yanked his pistol from its holster, shooting Tevi first in the shoulder, then the chest.

Standing up, Gorman heard the thudding of boots on the floor as two other guards ran toward the commotion. He didn't hesitate to shoot both as they rounded a corner toward him, though one of them was able to fire off a few rounds, missing him entirely.

_I can only hope no one else heard that. _Gorman stepped over the bodies to get the door of the server room, slamming it shut and locking it. Hopefully, that would buy him some time.

Heart in his throat, Gorman kept his weapon out as he approached the computers. He pressed a button on his headset. "Valen, do you read me?"

"Yes, Gunny," Valen whispered.

"I'm in the server room. Locked the doors. Unsuppressed shots were fired, and I don't know if anyone else in this facility heard them. Start moving up." Gorman took a breath. "Towers?"

"Yeah?" Towers replied.

"Where are you?"

"Outside, where you left me."

"OK. Don't move unless I say so, alright?"

"Alright. Are you OK?"

"Physically, fine. Focus on yourself right now." Gorman released his breath. "Don't worry about me."

"Yes, Gorman," Towers replied.

Turning back to the screen, Gorman began digging into the system, trying to find anything hinting at a future attack by this group. There were hundreds of thousands of files, detailing everything from personnel to transactions within Seegson to-

Something familiar caught Gorman's eye. A name.

Two names, actually. He had heard the name "Sevastopol" many times. His heart pounded harder and harder against his ribcage, and he saw the second name under "Sevastopol personnel." Under "Marshal division."

_Jethro Waits. Great-Uncle Jethro. Gran's big brother. _Gorman didn't notice his jaw had dropped. It was tempting to look at his uncle's file. It was painfully tempting. _Could this have any answers as to what happened to him?_

His throat tightened. Anyone would tell him that it was pointless. His grandmother had passed and would never know what actually happened.

But, would he ever have this opportunity again? He couldn't take that chance.

A chill ran down his spine, and he opened the file.

* * *

_2137_

Someone had left a magazine on a desk in the Bureau. Waits growled to himself, thinking whoever-it-was had tried to sneak those damn pinups in here to look at while on the job. After confirming the _Anesidora_'s crew had entered an airlock, he was ready to close up the Bureau for the night and go to bed.

Lingard would have to check over Marlow's crew when they left quarantine, so he wouldn't see her that night. A part of Waits was annoyed with that. He was looking forward to seeing her.

He angrily picked up the magazine, and was relieved to see it wasn't a dirty one; it was just a catalogue of stores on Gateway. His curiosity piqued, Waits flipped through it. Gateway seemed exactly how he thought; full of life and things to do. He gave a sigh of longing.

The page he turned to next was particularly interesting. Jewelry stores. Rings. More specifically, engagement rings. Waits knew that was going to be the first thing he shopped for when he arrived on Gateway. And recovered from post-cryo illness, of course. At least Lingard promised she would take care of him. At least they wouldn't have to keep their relationship a secret anymore. He knew he'd be far happier walking together in public and holding her hand. He felt like he could protect her.

The longing feeling began to ache. After leaving the magazine where he found it, Waits locked up the Bureau and headed up to his apartment. Alone. Lonely. The ache of loneliness was so familiar, but this time, it was laced with the sensation of missing someone. That made it hurt more.

* * *

_To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA; Earth_

_From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station; KG-348 orbit; Zeta Reticuli System_

_Subject: Coming Home Soon_

_Hey, Em,  
_

_Not sure if you heard the news or not, but Seegson is closing down Sevastopol, which means I'm being moved again. I already requested for the guys on Gateway to get me a post, so, no, I'm not retiring. I'll be closer to you and Micah, though. I know that's what you've wanted. This is a win-win situation; I'm still working, you can see me more.  
_

_I'm not sure when the transport will come for the last remaining people here. Essential personnel were told to leave last. We have a few non-essential civvies left. Truthfully, I felt bad when they told me that they don't know where to go. Some of them had completely uprooted their families to come here. Why? Who the fuck knows. So they sold all their shit and don't have a home. All I could say is get on a ship to Gateway or LV-510 and figure things out from there. I could have gotten pissed with them for not making a plan, but I've been so tired the last few weeks that I just don't have the energy to get mad at anyone.  
_

_So, as of now, we're waiting for a couple more transports, then I'll be able to leave. Most of my bags are packed, and I won't receive my new orders until I reach Gateway. All I ask is that you wait to visit until I send you a message from the station, because I won't be feeling too good for the first few days out of cryo.  
_

_Keep this between you and me, Em; remember how I told you I'm dating one of the doctors here? Well, I'm thinking about marrying her. I really love her. She means the world to me, and I think it'd be nuts of me to not ask her to be my wife. We make each other happy, and I can't wait for you to meet her in person. I know you're happy I found someone. Late in life, yeah, but I guess that's how it was meant to be.  
_

_Hopefully, when you receive this message, I'll be in hypersleep en route to Gateway.  
_

_Lots of love,  
_

_Jethro_

* * *

_Question: How would the events of Isolation play out differently if Waits took command of quarantining the _Anesidora_'s crew instead of Sinclair?_


	19. Chapter 19

_2175_

Gorman stared at the images of his great-uncle on the screen in front of him. His grandmother was right; he really did look so much like her brother. They had similar facial features, and Gorman was struggling to remember the photo of his grandmother and Uncle Jethro after the latter's graduation from training, when Jethro was thinner. _Dad has that photo. I'll ask him about it . . . My God, is this what I'll look like when I'm older? _

Many of the photos under the Sevastopol file were dated 2135 or 2136. Jethro wasn't smiling in any of them. He was usually scowling, and Gorman could see his narrowed amber eyes. His father had amber eyes. Gorman had the gray of his mother. Despite his age, Jethro still had a full head of silver hair. His face gave the impression that he was well-fed, and Gorman tried to remember if the younger photo had showed his great-uncle with the same pronounced cheekbones he had.

Gorman kept going through the pictures, wondering why Jethro looked so depressed, and he closed his eyes, letting a conversation with his grandmother come to mind.

"He was always focused on whatever he set his mind to. Like his father. And he sometimes plunged too far and got himself hurt." The old lady smiled. "I can remember when he first tried fixing a part in his truck on his own, without his father's help. Couldn't find the piece and was so determined to have it done that he went out at a horrid hour to buy it. Walked, mind you. He was almost hit three times on the road. A bit reckless, but it's not like he never had the best interest at heart. He may not have seemed like it, but he was selfless. Crude, rude, not always pleasant, but he was selfless. He just had his own way of showing his love. He let his actions talk. Didn't make it easy for him to find a girlfriend, that's for sure. He was . . . very, very lonely. I think he just accepted it after awhile, poor Jethro. It took a lot to love him, but once he knew, he was the most loyal friend you could ever have. He loved so strongly. He'd never let you down. He'd risk his life for you. His crudeness, well, that was just his way of showing affection at times."

Gorman felt a hard pang of sympathy in his chest. He continued staring at one of the photos, and whispered aloud, "I wish I could talk to you."

* * *

_2137_

Waits couldn't figure out why he was having a hard time falling asleep. Something was nagging at him. That feeling of dread he had after letting that ship dock here. It persisted as he headed up to his apartment, and he wished he could discuss it with Lingard. Someone. Anyone. Just to make sense of it. He knew he had said that he never had a gut feeling that was wrong. A part of him wondered if it actually had nothing to do with the _Anesidora_. Maybe he was sensing Ransome would crash his breakfast with him and Lingard tomorrow morning. Again.

After almost an hour of tossing and turning, he sat up, rubbing his face and sighing. That was when he saw it, a light flashing on his computer. Groaning, Waits got out of bed, throwing on a pair of pants and his jacket before sitting in front of the computer.

The groaning stopped when he listened to the message from Lingard in front of him. Someone from the _Anesidora_ carrying an unknown parasite? Sinclair let them through quarantine?

"Son-of-a-bitch," Waits growled. He returned to his bedroom, putting on the rest of his clothes before leaving the apartment. Just in case, he dashed down to the Bureau first to grab his revolver. Lingard sounded like she really needed him in her message. That alone pushed him to move faster. _She can't say I'm slow now._

He grew increasingly worried as he rode the transit to SciMed Tower. The last thing he wanted to do was find out someone was hurting Lingard. Before stepping off the transit car, he gave his revolver another check. He wasn't going to hesitate to shoot if one of the _Anesidora_'s crew had their hands on Lingard.

He pushed past his discomfort with the emptiness of San Cristobal when he entered the hospital. His hand was on his revolver, and his body was tense as he walked through the dark corridors of the hospital. It had been awhile since he been through certain parts of the hospital, and he never wanted to go through them again.

Lingard stepped out of a room, and quietly walked over to Waits. "You got my message?" she whispered.

"Yeah. What the fuck is going on?"

"I told you. The captain's wife-at least, that what he claims she is-had a suit breach on a moon not that far from here. Some spider-like creature broke into her helmet, attached to her face, and now . . ." Lingard took a breath, "I . . . I-I ran a scan, and . . . there's something . . . inside her chest."

"Lemme see."

Lingard led Waits into the room. The patient was sitting on a table with a man who looked less like a ship's captain and more like a bartender. _That must be Marlow_, Waits thought. The man's arms were covered in tattoos, and Waits didn't have time to study them as he followed Lingard. Morley was standing near them, looking over his shoulder at Waits and Lingard as they walked into a smaller room nearby.

The X-ray image was already on the screen of a large machine. Waits suddenly felt a coiling sensation in his own stomach as he stared at the long, worm-like creature curled up _inside_ this woman's body. "Well . . . that's certainly the biggest fucking tapeworm I've ever seen."

"It's not a tapeworm, sweetie, I don't know what it is. There's no data in any accessible systems that can tell me what this is," Lingard replied.

"You're the doctor here, honey, you decide what to do. All I know is I'm gonna beat the shit outta Sinclair when I see him for letting this past quarantine."

Lingard lowered her voice. "I don't think _they_ told Sinclair about this." She pointed to Marlow and the woman.

"Good point. Still, Sinclair's been doing shady shit for the last few months and someone's gotta make him pay for it." Waits looked back at the image. "Alright, so, what's your plan?"

"Take that thing out. Kill it if the removal doesn't. Dispose of it somehow."

"Sounds good to me. I'll beat on Marlow and Sinclair when you're done."

"Can you promise me you won't get yourself in trouble, sweetie?"

"Promise. I'll only beat on 'em a little bit." Waits grinned, then kissed Lingard on the cheek. "You know I'm only kidding around. I'll chew 'em out, but I won't beat 'em. Have fun."

Lingard resisted a smirk.

"Hey, do I get points for showing up as fast as I could?"

"Yes. You get a bunch of points. You get . . . I'll buy you an alcoholic milkshake when we get to Gateway."

"Aww, thanks." Waits leaned down to kiss her again when he noticed someone enter the room from the corner of his eye. "Fuck."

Lingard was looking down at the floor, and gripping Waits's arms. "I'm sorry. I had no choice-"

"Thanks for making this easy, Lingard," Ransome said, strolling up to the two. He looked at Waits. "And I don't want any trouble outta you, old fella."

"Kiss my ass. What are you doing here?" Waits snarled.

Lingard squeezed his arms. "Let him go, Waits. It'll make things easier."

"Just curious to see what you found here, Lingard," Ransome replied. He kept glancing at Waits. "Or were you just looking for an excuse to make out with your boyfriend while working?"

"God help me, Ransome, I'll beat your face into a pulp." Waits turned to lunge, but was held back by Lingard.

"Waits, stop!" She grabbed his face, looking him in the eye. "This isn't helping anyone! Relax, OK?"

Ransome seemed surprised at how Lingard got Waits to calm down, though there was still anger smoldering in the Marshal's eyes. "Perhaps your next job should be tamer of beasts, Lingard," he said.

"You're not helping, either," Lingard snapped. "I don't know what you want, but just . . . stay in this room, and don't kill each other. I have to help this patient."

She disappeared into another room to sterilize and put on a set of scrubs, leaving the two men alone. She knew that could spell disaster, but she trusted Waits. Despite that, she called for Morley to watch them while she performed the operation.

Waits looked out the window at the woman and Marlow, then back at the X-ray. Every time he looked at the image of that worm-thing, his stomach lurched. Unable to look at it anymore, he looked at Ransome. "You really got up at this shitty hour for . . . God knows why?"

"I'm a little surprised you're awake, too, old fella." Ransome gave Waits a look. "Didn't drink enough beer in the evening, I suppose."

Waits turned, but Morley gestured for him to stop, saying, "Don't even think about it. Lingard has enough to worry about without you two children fighting back here."

They could see Lingard prepping the patient through the window. Marlow was told to leave, and everything was silent aside from the random sounds from the machines.

Morley folded his arms over his chests. "Looks like a relatively simple operation," he said, half to himself and half to Waits and Ransome. "She should be out for an hour, maybe two. It-" Morley suddenly paled. "Dear God!"

Waits stood up. The patient had started convulsing and grabbing her chest as Lingard tried to administer anesthesia. "Morley!" Lingard shouted.

Throwing on a mask, Morley punched in a code on a keypad to leave the room. The door shut and locked behind him as he jogged over to the scene, which was growing more horrifying and unbearable to watch by the second. The room wasn't soundproof, and Waits could hear the woman screaming. He could see blood start blooming all over her clothes, though the scene was mostly covered by Morley and Lingard. He hardly noticed Ransome standing next to him. Blood had drained from the executive's face. Then Ransome jolted when they heard the snapping of the woman's ribs.

"Hold her down!" Morley ordered. "Get that anesthesia in-!" Morley was abruptly showered with blood erupting from the patient's chest.

Another scream, a very different scream, filled the room. It was small and inhuman. Covered in blood, Morley and Lingard watched something emerge from the woman's chest cavity. The worm.

Ransome gagged and turned, holding his stomach. He grabbed a tiny wastebasket, and knelt over it to vomit. Waits's stomach was empty, and he was too shocked to move or pay attention to the feeling of dry heaves moving up his throat. He didn't notice he had stopped breathing while watching this awful scene play out in front of him.

The worm screeched, showing the two doctors its sharp little teeth. It turned toward Lingard, and Waits swallowed his nausea. _The little shit's gonna hurt her! _He grabbed the handle of the door, trying to force it open. He didn't know the passcode to let himself out; only Morley or Lingard could do that. Breathing fast and hard, he banged on the door.

"Waits, it's running away!" Ransome had trails of vomit running down his chin as he watched the worm slither from the woman's chest. It landed on the floor with a wet _slap_, blood spattering around it, then darted away.

"Son-of-a-bitch! I'm gonna kill it! I'll tear it apart!" Waits snarled through clenched teeth. He kept pressing on the door handle. "_Lingard!_"

He went back to the window, seeing Lingard standing by the table in shock. She looked like she wanted to cover her face, but couldn't because she had blood all over her.

Silence fell over the room, broken once by Morley. "She's dead."

It all happened so fast. So unbelievably fast.

"Lingard?" Morley said. "Let's . . . Let's . . ." His voice trailed off. He, too, was in shock, unsure of what to do next. He glanced up when he heard the sound of someone jostling a door handle. "Clean up, and go to Waits."

Hands shaking, Lingard headed back to the smaller room to get clean. Waits watched, and tried to be patient. His heart was still racing and he still couldn't believe what he just saw. His mind was struggling to get a grip on itself.

The door finally opened, and he grabbed Lingard in a hug. "Sweetheart . . ." He took a breath. "Sweetheart, are you OK?"

Lingard didn't respond. She was holding Waits as tight as she could, her face buried in his jacket, sobs muffled.

"You did what you could," Waits whispered, pressing her against him. He rubbed her back, gently rocking her back and forth. "It's OK. It'll be OK, sweetheart." His heart was still pounding. His focus was on comforting Lingard. He hugged her tighter and tighter. "It's OK . . ."

Ransome left the small room, face still covered in vomit. His eyes followed the trail of blood left by the worm, and pointed to it. "I hate to interrupt your cutesy little moment here, but what the _hell_ are you going to do about _that_, Waits?"

"First, I'm going to order you to leave," Waits replied, still holding Lingard. "I gotta get this shit taped off, and I don't want your ass interfering."

"As Seegson's head-"

"You have no power here, Ransome," Waits growled. "This has nothing to do with you. Get out of San Cristobal. I want _everyone_ out of San fucking Cristobal."

* * *

_2175_

Gorman glanced toward the doors, wondering if the stray gunshots really hadn't attracted any attention. He looked back at the screen, looking through the photos of his great-uncle. He paused when he came to a photo of Jethro and a woman. The woman was dressed in a doctor's uniform, and she was snuggled up next to Jethro in what looked like a photo booth. They looked . . . happy.

The photo was attached to a message from Jethro to Esmeralda.

"_Forgot to wish you a happy birthday, Em. Got busy. Hey, I managed to get something for you. We went down to the mall and decided to just mess around in a booth here. The lady in the picture is Dr. Lingard. You wanted a picture, and she was OK with taking one. We've been doing good. It's been about a year since we started seeing each other, you know, romantically. I'm happy, for once in my life. I really love her, but I've been struggling with telling her that. You're the only person who'd understand that it's not because I don't actually love her. My actions have said it, but I know I need to say it with words. Might take awhile, but I'll say it eventually._"

Gorman looked toward the doors again, then looked back at the computer. He felt something seeing his great-uncle looking happy, rather than dour and sad and annoyed. It made him wish even more that he could meet Jethro. He wanted to sit down with the man, talk to him, get to know him.

His whole body tensed and his ears pricked when he heard a scratching sound. It sounded like claws clicking against the tile of the floor. Wait . . . claws?

Gorman picked up his gun. He could feel sweat forming inside his gloves as he looked around. Then he saw it.

There was a soft sound, followed by a rustling, then he looked up to see something perched on top of one of the servers. A creature. A large creature that resembled a mouse, but crossed with something carnivorous. Its dark-blue eyes stood out against black fur. Behind it, a tail lashed back and forth, and it looked down at Gorman, studying him in a predatory manner. It didn't move a whisker; only the tail moved. Long claws tipped its paws, which bore a resemblance to human hands, somewhat.

Gorman had dealt with attack dogs, but not . . . this. He knew he should never look a dog in the eye, but what about this thing? A heartbeat later, he realized he was making eye contact with it, and it hadn't moved.

Then its jaws parted slightly. He could see its tongue move forward between the sharp front teeth. A second later, it let out an ear-splitting screech, and lunged toward Gorman. Raising his gun, Gorman fired a single round into the creature's chest. It continued to scream as blood began gushing from the wound, as it landed on top of Gorman. It wasn't going down without a fight.

Gorman fired again, and the animal grabbed his left arm in its jaws, sinking in its teeth. It pinned his head to the floor with one strong, clawed paw. Biting back a scream, Gorman yanked his knife from his belt, plunging it into the creature's neck. Blood poured onto him, and he pulled the knife out while pushing the fresh carcass off his chest.

Pain seared through his arm. He needed Maxie, but calling his squad would trigger a fight. It wasn't like the rest of the facility's personnel had gotten wind of this. Then again, it was only a matter of time before they did. Gorman struggled to weigh his options through the pain, and then an idea struck him. He went back to the computer, the files on Jethro still open, and pulled a drive from one of his pockets. _I can just download all this and look at it at home. I need to get back to the task at hand._

* * *

_2137_

Lingard ordered Morley to start moving patients out of the hospital once Waits made it clear San Cristobal was going under lockdown to find that worm. Moving patients wasn't going to be easy, and Morley made that clear.

"Most of the patients still here can't be moved from their rooms," he said. "We're still waiting for those transports. Waits, you can't-"

"You're gonna have to find a way," Waits interrupted. "We don't know what the fuck that creature can do, and we don't want it hurting whatever patients are left here. Do you have any portable life support systems?"

"Yes-"

"Then use them. I got nothing else for you, Morley. Get everyone out. This shouldn't take very long."

Once Morley headed down one of the halls away from the bloody operating room, Waits was completely alone with the woman's corpse. He tried not to look at it. Once in awhile, he did.

He had seen mutilated bodies before. He would never deny that, nor would he deny that he didn't handle witnessing his first death well. He had seen alien fauna kill people in a myriad of ways, tearing them apart and flinging them like destructive children with ragdolls. But he had never seen what he just saw before.

His thoughts were interrupted by Marshals Turner and Garcia entering the room. He struggled with putting on a more neutral face, the face of someone everyone was looking up to, the face of a leader.

Waits looked down one of the hallways, seeing Lingard holding a clipboard. _She looks up to me all the time. If there's anyone I can't let down, it's her. Her and everyone else on this station. _He stood up to approach his team. "Alright, the little piece of shit can't have gotten too far. Are we aware of what we're looking for?"

"You mentioned it resembled a large worm with teeth," Garcia replied. "How large are we talking, sir?"

"About a foot long, maybe a little bigger. I don't think those fucking teeth were for show, so let's not do anything foolish with it. Don't hesitate to shoot it." Waits gestured to the trail of blood. "Gruesome as it is, we can thank it for making it easy to follow it. We'll go in the vents if we have to." It took a moment for Waits to realize what he just said. He hated getting in small spaces, like vents, and it certainly didn't help that it was steadily getting harder for him to do intensely physical activities. _Well, if I said we'll do it, I have to do it, too._

Armed with their revolvers, a net, a flashlight and a motion tracker, the three men followed the blood trail down a hallway leading to a storage unit full of sterilized equipment. _Sorry we just contaminated all your tools, honey. _Waits sighed, shining his flashlight around the small room. He could see his breath in the cold air, and he noticed something change in the blood trail. It looked like the creature had stopped in farthest corner of the room, then quickly changed its mind to go-

"Into the vent," Waits mumbled. "Shit." He led Turner and Garcia over to the entrance of the vent, which automatically opened when Waits knelt in front of it. Upon sticking the flashlight into it, he could see the blood trail continued. "I'll go in," he said. _I said I'd do it. I have to do it._

It really had been awhile since he did anything this physical. Perhaps if he had known Sevastopol was this quiet, he would've said "no" to this job. He tried to suck in his gut without either of the other Marshals noticing as he crawled into the vent. Once the vent closed behind him, Waits found it hard to breathe with the smell of blood and something foul.

It didn't take very long for Waits to feel a dull ache throb in his lower back. He shined the flashlight in every direction, and he started to feel dizzy with the lack of air.

_Fuck, this is so small . . . or all the extra cheesecake slices are catching up. _Waits continued to slowly move forward, the dull ache spreading to the rest of his body from the epicenter in his back. He couldn't keep crouching like this for very long.

Something created a strangely shaped shadow against the metal of the shaft. Waits got on his knees and noticed a dark lump on the bottom. He aimed the light on it, and grimaced. It was a pile of yellowish skin, crinkled and ripped. He refused to touch it, uncertain of what was on it, so he pulled out his baton, prodding at it and lifting it slightly.

He came to the conclusion that the creature had shed its skin like a snake. This soon after birth? Perhaps it was just removing whatever placental fluid was left on its body. Regardless, it was disgusting, though not nearly as disgusting as how that creature came to be. _It used that woman as a host. _Waits had a lot of questions, and no answers in sight. A part of him didn't care; he wasn't curious about the inner workings of this creature. All he cared about was killing it before it hurt anyone, or worse, did to someone on the station what it did to that woman.

* * *

_Question: Out of all the Marines in the squad, who would Waits have the easiest time getting along with?_


	20. Chapter 20

_2175_

Gorman had underestimated how long it would take every file with his great-uncle's name on it to be downloaded onto his drive. It looked like it was going to be awhile. As he waited, he continued digging through other files, looking for anything incriminating against what was left of Seegson.

It didn't take long for him to find various messages between leaders of the remnants and hired mercenaries about planned strikes on not only Weyland-Yutani facilities, but USCM bases as well to slow a response. He glanced toward the doors, becoming aware again of the horrific pain in his arm. Blood was beginning to dry on his uniform sleeves, but there was still more flowing freely from the deep scratches and bitemarks.

Gorman pulled a second drive from his bag, plugging it into another port on the computer. He swiftly began putting the messages inside, knowing this was more important to take care of.

No, _both_ were important. Personally and professionally. Both would provide immense satisfaction for something on his mind. His heart pounded harder and harder and he looked at the progress of the drive downloading all the files on Jethro. He cursed to himself when he saw it wasn't even a quarter of the way done.

He froze when he heard someone knocking on the doors, and grabbed his gun, despite pain surging through his arm when he moved any muscle inside it.

"If you don't open the door, Marine, we'll open it for you!" someone snarled. "We know you're in there!"

Gorman looked back at the computer screen. Both drives were taking their sweet time downloading, and he had no way of speeding up the process. He stepped back, and tapped his headset. "Valen, move in. I need a distraction. I need time."

"How much time?" Valen whispered.

"I need at least an hour."

"I'll see what we can do."

Gorman kept his gun trained on the door. In any other situation, he would scramble back up to the vent. His heart was in his throat when he heard the guards trying to break into the room. He glanced around frantically, then aimed the gun at a panel controlling the lights. One shot later, the lights above flickered and turned off, plunging the room into darkness, save for the glow of the computers. He climbed on top of one of the servers, putting his night-vision goggles over his eyes.

There was a hiss, and the doors slid open. Four guards entered, each holding a rifle. Gorman fired first, catching one guard's helmet. The remaining three turned in Gorman's direction.

Gorman backed away, and dropped into the maze of servers behind him. Here, it was dark, and he would have the upper hand.

"Quit staring! Go shoot his brains out!" one of the guards ordered.

Gorman waited behind another server. He heard the three head into the maze, and waited for one of them to appear before shooting him. The bullet sank into the right side of the man's chest as Gorman disappeared further into the maze.

"Son-of-a-bitch is gonna play games." The same guard who spoke before pushed past his injured comrade, trying to follow Gorman.

_What kind of soldier just abandons the wounded?_ A sudden sense of hatred pierced Gorman's heart. He darted around a corner before the guard had any chance of seeing him.

"You're gonna get sick of running soon! Come on out and fight, coward!"

Gorman got on top of a server, silently crawling behind the guard. He held his breath. _OK, he wants a fight? I'll give him one-_

He waited. The guard kept spitting insults, taunting Gorman even though he couldn't see him. Then Gorman dropped down behind him, silently, like an owl swooping down to catch a mouse in the grass. He tapped the guard's shoulder. The guard turned around, and before he could shoot, Gorman punched him square in the jaw.

Reeling, the guard dropped his rifle. He spit blood on the floor, and looked up. As soon as he did, Gorman punched him again.

"You wanted a fight," Gorman hissed. "Get up and fight, bastard."

The guard let out an inhuman snarl before lunging in the direction of Gorman's voice. In a second flat, Gorman kicked him in the side. The guard tried grabbing Gorman, and wrapped his hand around one of the wounds on Gorman's left arm, prompting the Marine to grunt in pain.

The guard found a weakness. He grinned before squeezing Gorman's arm.

Spots exploded across Gorman's vision. His grunting turned to growling as he pulled his knife and drove it into the guard's back. The other man's laughter turned to cries of pain, which intensified as Gorman began twisting the knife.

Yanking out the knife, Gorman shoved the guard away, watching him fall and grope around for his weapon. He grabbed the guard's shoulders, then his head. "Is this it? Is this the fight you wanted?"

The guard was terrified. He couldn't speak. Then he whispered, "God help me."

"He's the only one who can help you now," Gorman snarled. He had to end the fight. He had to get back to the computers and check the progress of the two drives. In a swift move, he snapped the guard's neck.

As he stood up, he heard the click of a weapon being readied, and looked to see the third surviving guard aiming his rifle at Gorman's head. The wounded guard that their commander had pushed aside was propped against the survivor's back, his pistol also pointing at Gorman.

"Don't move," the guard hissed. "Don't even-"

Someone emerged from around the corner behind them. Though their facial features were obscured by the darkness, Gorman could tell they were a Marine by the shape of the armor on their shoulders. The Marine raised their weapon, taking down the two remaining guards with a few rounds.

Towers blinked when Gorman turned on his flashlight. She was breathing hard, and shaking. "H-Hi." She tensed, half-expecting him to discipline her for such an unprofessional phrase on the job.

"Hi," Gorman replied.

Towers became aware of the blood completely covering Gorman's left arm. "You're hurt. I'll get Maxie-"

"No. I'll be fine. I need you to stand in the hallway, make sure they can't send anyone else in." Gorman left the maze of servers, returning to the computer. The download of attack plans was nearly complete. The download of his great-uncle's information was a little past halfway. "I just need time."

"We can't hold them off forever!"

"I said, I need time!"

"You're hurt! Get someone else to take care of this!"

"No."

"You were almost shot!" Towers looked on the verge of tears.

"You need to get your mind back on track, young lady! This sure as hell isn't my first time nearly being shot, and it won't be the last!"

Towers struggled to breathe evenly.

"There's no going back. Sweetheart, you have no idea what I've faced in missions before this one. You can't panic. Come on, I know it's not in your nature to do this. I also know you've never cared about anyone like this before. You have courage. I know you do. I want to see that from you. Where's that determination I saw in you when you wouldn't stop messing with my stuff? Oh, and speaking of my stuff . . . where'd you put my armor?"

"Valen gave me this oversized duffel bag and I left it near the door. Everything's in there."

"Good. Like I said, we need time." Gorman looked back at the computer screen. If only he could will the downloads to go faster.

* * *

_2137_

They never found the worm-creature. The vents were so complex that no one would be able to look through every inch without getting completely lost. None of them were trained to be in there for long periods of time, especially not Waits.

He emerged from the vent feeling ashamed he hadn't found the creature. If he had a much bigger staff, he would send them searching the station in groups of two. With so few people, it would take longer to find that thing.

_It would take so long that the other transports would arrive before we finished. At least . . . we'd be able to all board and leave the little shit to die. _Waits mulled over his options. He could only hope that thing was more scared of them then they were of it. Perhaps it would just hide and avoid them.

He needed more time to think. After ordering his men to continue locking down San Cristobal, he went to check on Lingard. She was outside the hospital, trying to set up a temporary medical center for the patients she and Morley had to move. Most of them were asleep, sedated to keep them from getting stressed. Lingard was walking among them, checking their vitals. She paused when Waits approached her. "I'm kinda busy," she said.

"I know. I . . . W-We didn't find the creature. It might be awhile before we can put everyone back inside." Waits looked down, then regained eye contact with Lingard. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're just doing your job. Like I'm doing mine."

"Yeah." Waits tried to smile. "I just . . . I need some time to think about what to do. I don't have enough Marshals to do a full sweep of the station. I don't know where that creature could've gone. All we found was shed skin in the vent-"

"Hang on. You found shed skin in the vent?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"If I can recover it, I can study it and try to figure out what it is."

"Honey, we don't have time for science-y shit. Besides, you said there's no data on it."

"No, but I can start compiling data. I don't think this is something we want anyone else running into."

"Fair enough, but-"

Lingard started heading back toward San Cristobal. "Morley, take over for a little while."

"You're not going in that vent to retrieve that skin," Waits said. "That's an order."

The doors to the entrance closed behind them. Lingard glanced around before turning to face Waits. "What vent did you find it in?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Oh, I'll get it out of you somehow."

Waits glared at her. "Try."

Lingard put her arms around his neck, kissing him. "Now?"

Waits sighed. "How the fuck am I supposed to say 'no' to your face? You could get away with anything around me."

Lingard didn't smile at that. At all.

"Um . . . that was a joke, and you're supposed to laugh."

"It'd be funny if it wasn't true." Lingard had lowered her voice. She looked down, eyes full of shame.

"What do you mean? You haven't done anything wrong. You woulda told me."

Tears ran down her face. "I have." She looked up at him. "Ransome was right; there's something you don't know." She took a breath. "I was in on the black market, Waits. I had no choice, sweetie, people were getting hurt over shortages and I needed supplies to help them."

Waits let go of her, shock hitting him hard, like a punch in the stomach. If this was any other person, any other person at all, he would have been infuriated. With Lingard, he felt disappointed, and sad. Betrayed, even. "I can remember when we first met, that . . . you said you enjoyed my company because I was honest, and you said you'd take my honesty and crudeness and crappy people skills over the backstabbing and untrustworthiness you had gotten used to around here."

"I didn't stab you in the back."

"In a way, you did. You knew I was trying to deal with the black market. You knew I was trying to kick Sinclair's ass for letting so much contraband get in. You knew, and you did it anyway. Who'd you get your stuff from?"

"Ransome."

"Of course. Why am I not surprised? You didn't have to fuck him to get it, did you?"

"No."

Waits fell silent, struggling to process everything. He managed to look Lingard in the eye.

Lingard let out a sigh. "I don't know if it helps, but . . . I still want to marry you. This . . . This whole thing doesn't effect our relationship."

"I have one question for you, honey; what matters more to you? Complete strangers, or someone who gave you things you didn't have before? Does . . . the satisfaction of helping someone you don't know outweigh everything I've done for you? Have you been so deprived of people caring about you and your wellbeing that the only thing that can make you even remotely happy is caring for people who probably don't even thank you for what you do? Is there . . . Is there something I'm failing at? Something I'm not doing to make you happy?"

She didn't respond.

Waits didn't know what else to say. "I think . . . maybe we just need to be apart for a little while. Give us both a chance to think. Oh, and if you still want that creature's skin, it's in the vent in the room with all your surgical equipment."

Without a word, Lingard turned and headed back toward the operating theater. Waits watched her go, and began to wonder if he had said the wrong thing entirely.

* * *

Waits wasn't sure how much time had passed between since the creature had come out of the woman from the _Anesidora_. Several hours, it seemed.

It was. It was late at night when the incident happened. Now it was almost ten in the morning. Waits hadn't slept at all. After his argument with Lingard, basic things like sleeping and eating were out of the question.

The Bureau was down to only a few more cans of coffee grounds in storage, prompting Waits to declare everyone was limited to one cup per day, including himself. He was used to having two or more, and struggled with not showing his irritability over it. When he couldn't handle it anymore, he found a quiet spot down in the Spaceflight Terminals to have a cigarette.

He wished the last few transports were in view. He wished he knew when they would arrive.

He also wished he knew what to say to Lingard to make things better.

Exhaling smoke against the cold window, Waits looked down at his boots. He was just now feeling so tired, worn down, beaten. He felt like if he lay down, in a comfortable position, he would sleep for a week. The terminals were silent. Very few people were wandering around. Waits took his time with going through his cigarette, taking slow, deep breaths.

He became aware of someone jogging up behind him. He was expecting it to be Morley or Lingard, but when he turned, he saw it was a young woman he had never seen before. She looked out-of-breath and scared, like she had been running a long way.

"Marshal! Marshal Waits, please! I need help!" she called.

Waits put out his cigarette. "Alright, alright-" He grunted when the woman grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Easy, lady! What's going on? Take a deep breath, and talk to me."

"It's my husband." Tears were streaming down the woman's face. "He didn't come home this morning. He works down in the maintenance tunnel, near the transit station of habitation! No one's seen him. Someone said they saw him go into one of the other tunnels and never came out-"

"OK, OK. Relax. Keep breathing. We'll find him, alright? Take me down there, and we'll look. He's probably lost."

"He's been working there for years."

"I've been working here for years and I still get lost. Don't jump to any conclusions just yet, ma'am."

* * *

The maintenance tunnel darkened the further Waits walked into it. The woman walked alongside him, cautiously stepping over pipes and puddles of water and electrical wires. Waits didn't seem fazed by anything.

"What tunnel did your husband's coworkers say he disappeared in?" Waits asked.

"At the end. Second one to your left," the woman replied. Their voices echoed through the enormous tunnel.

Giving a nod, Waits kept walking. The tunnel's length meant it would take a few minutes for them to reach the other side. When they did, Waits examined the four splitting tunnels' entrances with his flashlight. The small beam of light couldn't penetrate the sheer darkness of each. "Second one to the left, huh," Waits muttered.

The tunnels to his left led under the habitation towers. The ones on his right ran under the transit line.

"Don't stray too far," Waits said, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. He held out his hand. "What's your name?"

"It's Lissa."

"Lissa. OK. Just hang on. Don't need you getting lost here, too."

Her thin, tiny fingers gripped his hand tightly. Waits massaged her hand with his thumb reassuringly, like he always did with Lingard. He knew he'd be as distraught as Lissa if Lingard went missing, and he wondered if Lingard would be distraught if he went missing.

_Of course she would. She was upset when I got hurt last year. She was upset when I was almost shot by a looter. She does love me. _Waits paused, glancing at Lissa. _Here I am, helping someone I hardly know, someone who might not thank me for what I'm doing, yet . . . I'm helping her, like Lingard helps her patients. _He let out a quiet sigh. _I really was wrong with Lingard. I have to apologize._

"Marshal?" Lissa stopped, squeezing Waits's hand hard. "What's . . . W-What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Something on the wall just moved. To your left."

Waits pointed his flashlight at the wall. At first, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, just tubes and cables, but . . . something wasn't right about those tubes and cables. Waits frowned, then backed away when he saw a long, black, bladed tail unfurl from something on the wall. The tail was connected to a large, horribly thin creature. Black ribs lined its chest, and its long, smooth head turned slowly to face them. Its lipless mouth was full of sharp, silvery teeth, and it had no eyes. No visible eyes, that is.

The creature hissed and started crawling down the wall toward Waits and Lissa. Without hesitating, Waits pulled his revolver. "Lissa, _run!_" He fired a single shot. It struck the creature in the shoulder, and a greenish-yellow fluid sprayed from its wound, making it scream. Waits's stomach turned hard when he recognized the scream. It sounded so much like that first cry the little worm gave when it came out of the woman from the _Anesidora_ . . . was this that worm? All grown up? This fucking fast?

Waits didn't have time to think about it. The creature's blood was extremely acidic; that spray was eating through the pipes on the wall and the wires between them. Sparks flew and gas erupted, starting to flood the dark tunnel. Waits could hear the creature continue to scream as it left.

He didn't want to know what kind of gas was filling the tunnel, so he turned to leave, running faster than he had in years. Once he caught up with Lissa, he grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as the two fled the more massive maintenance tunnel.

"What was that?!" Lissa shouted.

"I have no fucking idea!" Waits replied. "Just keep running!"

"What about-"

"I think it's safe to assume that son-of-a-bitch killed your husband. Sure looked like it wanted a piece of us."

They didn't stop running until they were outside the tunnel. Waits pushed his body against the massive door, and nearly collapsed when it was sealed shut. Lissa was shaking and crying. Regaining his breath, Waits said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea the damn thing bleeds acid. Even if I managed to kill it, it . . . that whole area's gone toxic."

"It's not your fault, Marshal. Y-You did what you could . . . and you didn't know . . ." Lissa looked at him with wet, red eyes.

"You got a family?"

"No."

"Alright. Come up to the Bureau. I'll have to tell the others what we just saw."

* * *

_Question: If Waits was present on Hadley's Hope during the infestation, would the situation have gone differently, or would it play out similarly to Sevastopol?_


	21. Chapter 21

_2175_

Gorman was gradually becoming aware of the fact that the metal flooring was nearly covered in his own blood. The numbers and words on the screen in front of him began to blur. He was starting to find it difficult to stand. He was sweating, but he was cold. If he stood here any longer, he would go into shock . . .

For a moment, he wasn't sure what he was doing. He glanced around, dimly aware of his hands shaking. He could faintly see the download progress bars growing fuller.

The plans had finished downloading. All he had to wait for now were the records on Jethro. He estimated it would take ten minutes. Did he have ten minutes?

He felt a pulsing sensation throughout his body, and more blood began dripping down his arm as his heart continued to do its work.

The progress bar moved, inching closer to being finished.

"Gorman? What the hell is taking so long?" Towers asked over her headset.

Gorman could hear her, but couldn't respond. Didn't know how to respond. Everything was becoming more and more blurry. His head ached, and felt so light and heavy at the same time. He continued to shiver. He could see two progress bars now . . .

"Gorman? What's going on? Respond, please!"

He couldn't stand. Not anymore. Trying to force himself to continue seemed futile, and his body was begging for the bleeding to stop. Towers's pleas for him to respond were growing faint, and the sound of his own fast but weakening heartbeat began flooding his ears. Fuzzy black spots began slowly swimming across his vision. His contact with reality was severed, and the last thing he was aware of was the sensation of falling. He wondered if he was going to fall forever, like a bad dream, but his consciousness faded when he hit the floor.

* * *

_2137_

Waits let Lissa sit in his office with a cup of coffee before gathering what little remained of his forces in the center of the Bureau. After describing what he had seen, the others were silent, offering no ideas or solutions.

"We can't just let it roam around until the transports arrive. God only knows how long it'll take before they do," Harris said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"And I don't think we want to risk it getting on one of the transports," added Sterling.

"We also don't want the entirety of Sevastopol panicking," muttered Waits. "If they panic, they'll make it difficult for us to catch and kill that thing."

"We need to get it in one fell swoop, mate. Plus, you mentioned it bleeds a very strong acid. How do we kill it without breaching the hull of the station?"

"Good question." Waits rubbed his face, sighing. "We'd have to trap it somewhere the damage would be minimal, and completely seal off the area. The other question is how do we can keep an eye on everyone? We're spread too thin as it is."

"Personally, I think it'll be inevitable that members of the population will panic, regardless if you tell them or not. They'll either be cast off as loons or others will follow in their footsteps."

"Well, I'm not saying a word to anyone. This conversation stays between us. If Ransome were to find out, he'll be the one starting a panic and making my job more difficult."

"If this organism is as dangerous as we think it is, I doubt Ransome would try to stop you from killing it."

Waits stood, casually strolling over to where Sterling was sitting on top of a desk. "Here's the thing, Sterling-" Waits took the safety off his revolver, and put the muzzle against the side of the bespectacled man's head, "I've had a sneaking suspicion for years that you leaked shit to Ransome. Is that true?"

Sterling paled, and his breath quickened. "Yes. Waits, don't-"

"Shut it. I'm not done with you. Did you tell Ransome about what Lingard found during her examination of that woman from the _Anesidora_?"

"No. I-I gave . . . I did give Ransome an access tuner. Years ago. I only know he said he'd use it if Lingard refused to give him information he wanted. If she sent a message, he was probably able to find it on any computer he had access to. I said nothing, Waits, I swear!"

"You still gave him that fucking tuner."

"I had no choice! Anyone who's been unfortunate enough to deal with Ransome knows that!"

The room fell silent, then the silence was broken by Waits flicking the safety back on his revolver. "I wanna know where your loyalties lie, son. We're about to deal with a dangerous animal. We're about to deal with something that could put the entire population of Sevastopol in harm's way. I want to know that you won't say one fucking word to Ransome about _anything_ we do regarding this."

"I won't say a word, Waits. Promise."

"I shouldn't count on you, but I will." Waits put his revolver back on his belt. "Don't break my trust, or I'll break your nose, got it?"

Sterling nodded, releasing his breath. Color began returning to his face.

"I can only give you so many chances. I don't want Ransome knowing. If he finds out, we're fucked." Waits looked around at the others. "That goes for all of you."

The first part of his plan was finding a place on the station where they could shoot the creature without risking a breach of the hull. Floors and walls might be damaged, sure, but he wanted to make sure there were no fuel or electrical lines in the way.

As Ricardo and Turner looked over a map, Waits went into his office to check on Lissa. She was still there, quiet, holding a now-lukewarm coffee. "How're you doing?" Waits asked.

"Not sure," Lissa replied. "Shaken."

"That's understandable. Look, I . . . I think it might be better for you to stay here while we take care of that thing."

She nodded. "I heard you out there. I saw it. I don't . . . I don't want it hurting anyone else."

"Yeah. You'd be safer here." Waits's thoughts turned to Lingard. "I . . . have some personal business to attend to. I'll be back in a few hours. Just do me a favor and don't touch anything on my desk, OK?"

* * *

There were usually people walking around the transit platforms and malls this time of day. Waits was a little baffled to see the platforms and malls were dead silent. Sure, there were less people on board, but he typically saw one or two. A familiar feeling of dread began twisting his stomach.

It was a similar case at San Cristobal, except everyone was gathered outside the hospital, in beds, some awake and some asleep. They paid no attention to him.

Lingard was measuring a liquid medicine of some kind into someone's IV drip. She glanced at Waits, but then tried to pretend he wasn't there.

"I need to talk to you for a minute," Waits said.

"I'm busy," Lingard replied.

"It's important, and I need to tell you in private."

"How important?"

"Like 'life and death' important."

Finishing the IV drip, Lingard hung the bag over someone's bed, and led Waits into the hospital. Once the doors were shut, she slapped him hard across the face. "That's for questioning how much I love you!" Tears filled her eyes. "Honestly, Waits . . . you're . . ."

"An ass. I know." His left cheek stung. "Look, I came to apologize for what I said earlier. It wasn't right, you know, for me to question your loyalty to me, or your devotion to your job. I mean, people have done that to me in the past, and I should've thought about that before opening my big fat mouth."

"But you didn't."

"I didn't. For that, I'm sorry."

Lingard kept looking him in the eye, then she nodded. "Alright. I forgive you."

"And, even though I probably shouldn't, I'm not gonna get upset with you over buying supplies on the black market. I know why you did it. Just . . . when we get to Gateway, don't do it again."

Lingard yanked on Waits's cap. "Thanks. I just hope I don't have to resort to that on Gateway."

"I don't think you will, honey."

"OK. I highly doubt this is a life-and-death issue, so what else is going on?"

"Well, it turns out . . . that worm-thing that came outta that woman's chest is all grown up now, and it ain't pretty." Waits described to Lingard the incident in the maintenance tunnels under the habitation towers, how the creature likely killed Lissa's husband, how it bled acid when he shot it. He finished with, "You cannot tell a soul. We can't risk having a mass panic, and we can't risk Ransome getting in the way."

"You think Ransome is vengeful enough that he'd prevent you from killing this thing, even though it could very likely kill him and everyone else on this station?"

"I don't want to take that chance."

"I think he'd actually side with you for once. He's . . . not nice, but he's not insane."

"Again, I'm not taking the chance. The other thing is . . . I don't think you and Morley should stay here. I don't know where that creature is going to show up next, but I don't want you two getting hurt."

"Waits, we still have patients here."

Sighing, Waits struggled to refuse to argue. "Alright, then . . . I'm going to teach you something that could save your life. Ever shoot a gun before?"

Lingard shook her head.

"OK." Waits took out his revolver. "This thing definitely isn't made for beginners, but it's all we have. Anyway, when someone hands you a weapon, always make sure they're not pointing the muzzle at you. Only time in the universe anyone should give you something butt-first."

"Waits!"

"Oh, come on, we need a little humor here. Now, when you take the revolver-go ahead, take it-make sure you keep it pointed away from people, unless you intend to shoot them." Waits got alongside Lingard, gesturing to the cylinder holding the six bullets, and pushed it open. "It's loaded, so, be careful. This is where you put your bullets in. Just push it back in when you're done loading." He gently put his hands on hers, and moved her thumb onto the safety. "Pull back this when you're ready to shoot."

"OK."

"I don't recommend you shoot it now. I'm not quite sure how you're gonna handle the recoil. Probably not that great, but not as bad as if I had given you a shotgun."

Lingard nodded. She aimed the revolver down the hall, pulled back the safety, then put the safety back on before handing it to Waits.

"Think you got it?" He put the gun back on his belt.

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'll go grab one from the armory for you, plus some ammo. May as well get one for Morley, too." Waits kissed Lingard's cheek. "I have faith in you, sweetheart."

Lingard turned to throw her arms around Waits's neck, hugging him tightly. "I love you."

"Look, if things get bad here, come to the Bureau. You'll be safe."

"OK."

A dull ache came over Waits's heart. He wished he could convince Lingard to go with him now. He didn't want to see her hurt. "If anything happens, I'll come for you. I promise. Just call me. I'll always respond." He held her tight, pressing her against his body. He gave a quiet sigh. "I know we're not married yet, but I'm making all those promises now."

He didn't want to let go, but he had to. He had a job to do. He had to kill this creature, before it killed anyone else.

* * *

Waits's plan was to go with Sterling, Turner, and Garcia, all armed with shotguns and equipped with motion trackers, to find the creature. There were several places around the station that wouldn't be missed if damaged by acid. They just couldn't be salvaged when Seegson broke Sevastopol down to sell for scrap. The issue was that Waits didn't want himself and his team _leading_ the creature. Using themselves as bait.

He had to do it, though. There was no other way.

They would go down at night, when everyone was up in their apartments. So far, no one was reporting anymore disappearances. For the time being, Waits had to make a delivery to San Cristobal.

He put two revolvers in a secure case with plenty of ammunition for Lingard and Morley to split evenly. As he headed to the platform, he felt a chill move down his spine. He felt like he was being watched, and there were no people around.

Waits looked around, until he saw something curled up in the tubes and pipes running along the ceiling. The creature shifted, and began crawling out of the pipes. It dropped to the floor, turning to face Waits, then opened its mouth, revealing a second set of teeth. Thick, clear saliva dripped from its jaws, as it began slowly moving toward Waits.

It pained Waits that he couldn't kill it here. He didn't have the power in his revolver to take it down in six shots. He didn't know what was under that platform, and whether it was vital or not.

From the corner of his eye, Waits saw the transit doors opening. The thing could likely sense them as well. He didn't want to take his eyes off it, lest that pissed it off.

Then it turned its long head to look at the transit. Waits bolted, getting as far back into the car as he could. Screaming, the creature tried to follow. It tried using its clawed hands to force open the doors, but they shut, trapping the creature's claws. It gave a scream of pain, and Waits picked up the case holding the two revolvers, grunting as he swung the case and smashed it on the creature's hideous fingers. It continued to scream. Waits bashed its claws again with the case, and that finally forced the creature to withdraw, just as the transit pulled away.

Even though the creature couldn't see it, Waits flipped up his middle finger in its direction.

When he arrived at SciMed, Waits noticed only Morley was tending the patients outside San Cristobal. Lingard was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, Doc. Where's-"

"She's in her office," Morley replied. "Do you need something?"

"Yeah. I brought some weapons for you. Just in case. And enough bullets for you both."

Morley nodded. "Thanks, Waits."

"You know how to shoot?"

"Yes."

"Alright." Waits handed him one of the revolvers. "All yours. Please, keep it. Don't know why Hazelton thought these were a good idea."

"As long as it serves its purpose," Morley said. "Have you heard anything regarding the transports?"

"No. Wish I have." Waits wished he had gotten Morley alone, so he could tell him what that worm had turned into. Perhaps Lingard had already told him. "Can I . . . just go and see Lingard?"

"Go ahead."

The hospital was at its darkest and emptiest. Waits headed right for Lingard's office, and saw her sitting in front of her computer, head down with her hands in her hair. "Hey, sweetheart. You doing OK?"

Lingard nodded.

"Got a revolver out for you, and ammunition. Already gave Morley his." Waits set the gun on the desk, studying Lingard's body language. "Are you sure you're OK? You look . . . upset."

Lingard sat up, sighing. "I've been up for about thirty-five hours. I . . . I needed to step away for a little awhile. Almost fell asleep."

"I've been up about the same time as you, and, yeah, I've been . . . been almost falling asleep, too. I have to go out with some of the other guys to hunt the son-of-a-bitch down when I get back."

Lingard looked at him, eyes half-lidded with tiredness. "How much time can you spare?"

"No idea."

"I know we both really need to get back to work, but I think it'd be good for us to do something to keep us going, at least until we can sleep again."

"And what are you suggesting?"

"Just a snuggle. That's it."

"Honey, we both can't fit in the chair."

"Then I'll sit on your lap."

Waits closed the door. "Fine." He sighed and went behind the desk to pick up Lingard.

"Waits, please be careful, sweetie. Please be-" She gave a startled scream when she slid from Waits, landing on the floor between the chair and the wall.

"Well, don't move, then," Waits said.

Lingard glared at him while sitting on his lap and putting her arms around his neck. She lifted his chin, then pressed her forehead to his. "I love you," she whispered.

"Flaws and all?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Thanks."

She grinned and tugged his cap. "A year from now, we'll be living in a nice apartment on Gateway. Either married or getting ready to get married."

"Probably still engaged. Takes forever for brides to pick their damn dress."

"And I've been through this before. I'm beyond caring how fancy the dress is. Getting you to dress up will be a hassle, though."

"Then I'm going to surprise you with actually getting all dressed up. Might surprise my family, too."

They were silent for a minute or two. Lingard hugged Waits and nuzzled his face. His pulse in his neck throbbed against her arm as she tightened her grip on him. She listened to his breathing, then stroked his hair. "I wish we could just sit here all night."

"Yeah." Waits kissed Lingard's cheek. "Kiss me like you did on the day we started dating."

"When we confessed in my apartment, or when we were in the mall?"

"In the mall. Our first real kiss."

Lingard smiled a little before kissing Waits's forehead. He kissed hers, and they touched noses, gently nuzzling each other before kissing. Waits's heart beat faster. He did not want this moment to end. Not now. Not ever.

Then they pulled apart, breathing hard, a multitude of emotions flooding them. They both knew they needed to get back to work, but one more kiss wouldn't hurt, right? Drawing in another breath at the same time, they kissed again, and squeezed each other tighter.

They pulled apart one last time, staring at each other. Waits realized his eyes were filling with tears, as were Lingard's. As they began to roll down her face, Waits gently wiped them away with his thumb. "This'll be over soon. I promise."

* * *

Waits's thoughts turned back to the creature as he boarded a transit car to return to the habitation towers. He hoped the thing wasn't smart enough to remember him, because it was probably still pissed about him smashing its fingers in the doors of the car.

The car slowed to a halt when it entered the tower. Waits's blood chilled upon seeing how dark it had gotten since he left; the lights must've been turned off while he was gone.

The silence was equally chilling.

The doors opened to let him off. Waits could hear his heart pounding, hear blood rushing in his ears. He stepped off, and looked around in the darkness. He could hear nothing but the functions of his own body. It had been a long time since he had ever been this scared.

He decided not to wait. He pulled his radio from his belt, saying, "Sterling, grab Garcia and Turner and come down to the transit platform."

"Right, sir. Is everything OK? You said you'd meet us up here," Sterling replied, his voice breaking the eerie silence.

"Yeah. Just . . . change in plans-"

Waits was interrupted by a sudden, long screech. The creature lunged from the darkness, nearly catching Waits in its claws. Without any second thoughts, Waits began running. _Shit!_

He hadn't run like this in a long time. He was in much better shape the last time he had to run so hard. It seemed fear would propel him forward, regardless of how soft he had gotten over the last few years.

The creature was behind him, running, stomping on the metal floor. Waits found himself in the lower mall, nearly all its stores abandoned, including the grill he and Lingard loved going to so much. At least the owner had been kind enough to tell them they'd be going to Gateway and setting up business there, and the two would be welcome whenever they managed to come.

At any other point, a pang of longing would have pierced through Waits's chest. Not now. He couldn't run forever, not with this angered monstrosity chasing him. He glanced around frantically, and then dashed toward the bars separating an empty convenience store from the rest of the mall. The space between the bars was sizable, but Waits would have to really suck in his gut to get through. He cursed and cursed as he tried to fit through. He cursed every extra helping he took whenever Lingard had him over for dinner, and he knew now she was right when she did his physical and told him he needed to lose a few pounds. Such a selfish, idiotic part of him was slowing him down while this creature came after him.

Finally, he pushed himself through the bars, falling to the floor. His belly was sore from him forcing his way in, but he ignored the pain as he disappeared into the darkness of the store, hiding in the maze of shelves. Waits crouched in the back, looking at the entrance. The creature stormed up to it, and gave a frustrated growl when it realized it had lost its prey, and couldn't get to it.

But it stayed. It knew Waits was there. Waits stayed perfectly still, hoping it would go away at some point. The other Marshals had to come soon. His heart pounding wildly, Waits squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed.

* * *

_Question: How do Gorman and Waits express determination differently? And similarly?_


	22. Chapter 22

_2137_

The creature paced in front of the bars, occasionally looking inside. Every time it did, Waits moved back behind the shelf, holding his breath. He had remained crouched the whole time, and that position was beginning to hurt. He couldn't move too much, though, or the son-of-a-bitch would notice.

He had to move, though. Quietly, slowly, he sat, trying to loosen the muscles in his back. He heard something pop, and he froze, afraid the creature heard it, too.

_Where the fuck are Sterling and the others?_ Waits resisted the urge to snarl under his breath. The other Marshals better have a damn good excuse for why they were taking so long-

"Jesus Christ, what is that?!" Turner shouted.

The creature turned away from the bars and screeched at the three approaching Marshals. Waits got up in time to see Sterling pumping his shotgun, firing at the creature. It dodged, though a few pieces of buckshot grazed its arm.

"Get outta the way!" Garcia yelled, shoving Sterling aside as the creature charged toward them. It scrambled up the wall, disappearing into a vent before Sterling could get another shot off.

"Dammit," Sterling hissed. "Where's Waits?"

"In here." Waits stood by the bars, relieved he didn't have to hide in that store anymore. "Don't bother trying to open the gate. I got myself in here, I can get myself out."

"We heard screaming and hissing over your radio and were almost convinced that thing got you," Sterling replied, watching Waits squeeze through the bars.

"Not a chance," Waits grunted as he pulled himself out of the empty store. He was embarrassed about the others watching him, but refused to show it. He took charge as soon as he was standing. "Alright, where'd the asshole run off to?"

"Went in a vent leading to the upper mall," Sterling said.

"Shit. We wanted it down here. We need to get it down here. It'll lose interest in us once it realizes there are a fuck-ton of more vulnerable targets up in the apartments."

"We can seal the vents and lock the elevators, right?"

"We can. Turner, contact Ricardo back at base. Tell him to lock everything. And gimme your shotgun."

Within minutes, there was a series of loud, heavy clangs as elevator doors and vents closed. Turner and Garcia were sent down to manually lock the doors leading to the transit station, to keep the creature from using the tunnels. Waits and Sterling headed up to the main floor of the mall.

Waits gestured for Sterling to stay behind him. He knew that might not be the best idea, due to his fears that Sterling was working for Ransome, and he could easily shoot Waits in the back of the head once they were completely alone. However, that didn't happen. Sterling didn't make a single hostile move when the two were alone.

"Waits," Sterling whispered. "Over there." He gestured with his shotgun, and Waits followed the barrel to one of the counters in the food court. The bladed tip of the creature's tail was resting on it.

The two quietly approached, shotguns ready. The beast was behind the counter, trying to pry off the cover of a vent, and growling in frustration. It fell silent when it managed to pop out two of the screws.

_Oh, no, you don't._ Waits crept forward. He wanted to nail that thing in the skull. Given the size of its head, he figured two or three shotgun shells would be enough to kill it-

_Son-of-a-bitch!_ Waits nearly cursed out loud when the creature disappeared into the kitchen behind the counter. He was about to throw himself inside when Sterling grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't! That space is too small. You might get hit with its blood."

Waits let out an irritated sigh, but he knew Sterling was right. He lowered his weapon, and stepped back beside Sterling. "I think . . . we need a new plan. We can't confront it like this."

"What are you suggesting, mate?"

"We set a trap. Line it with explosives." Waits took a breath. "Make sure it's uninhabited. Make sure no one's near it. And then blow it. We'll make sure it's sealed off. The station's going to be decommissioned anyway. No one's gonna miss anywhere we destroy."

Sterling didn't argue. "You're positive you want to do this?"

"One hundred percent positive," Waits replied. "You know how to build bombs?"

"I have some experience. First, we need to pick a spot to rig, so I know how much we need built."

"I want multiple traps set up. In case one fails, we'll have plenty of backups."

* * *

Waits wasn't comfortable just sitting in the Bureau, waiting for Sterling to gather the material he needed to build explosives. He paced, feeling as though every passing second just gave that creature time to find its next victim.

He looked at a clock, groaning when he noticed it was eleven at night. He was tired, he hadn't put anything in his body aside from coffee, and he knew he needed some kind of sustenance to keep himself going through this mess.

Lissa was sitting with one elbow on a desk, somewhat asleep when Waits walked in. She opened her eyes upon hearing him give a heavy sigh.

"We didn't get it. Not yet anyway." Waits sat at his desk, realizing he hadn't sat down all day, and he wasn't counting the crouching and hiding he did from the creature in that empty store. He looked over at Lissa. "We're working on it, though."

"Better than nothing," she replied, softly.

Sitting allowed Waits to relax a little. Tiredness came crashing down on him, and he began wishing he was cuddled up with Lingard in bed. He thought back to when they began sleeping with each other, how they gradually learned how to get used to each other being so close. It didn't take very long, and Lingard had no qualms about swatting Waits with a pillow whenever he started snoring or hogged the blankets.

She'd give an annoyed sigh while sitting up, and grabbed a pillow, raising it above her head and bringing it down on Waits's face, whacking him repeatedly. "Stop snoring!" she hissed until Waits woke up.

"Hey!" Waits grabbed the pillow from her. "What's the matter with you?"

"Can I have one night where you're not snoring and taking up the blankets?"

"Want me to go sleep on the couch?"

"No!"

"But you're obviously very annoyed with my sleeping habits right now."

"You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Make me."

Before Waits could get up, Lingard threw her arms around him and brought him back down in the sheets. "You stay right here."

"OK. Whatever you say, sweetheart." Waits sighed. "You know, you're louder than I am, and you're the one who doesn't want Ransome knowing."

"How am I loud?"

"You're yelling, and you're beating me with a pillow. Do you have any idea how this is going to sound to people outside?"

"Oh, I don't care right now. Go back to sleep."

Waits enjoyed that memory. It calmed him down, let the tiredness seep further into him. He gave in, despite a part of him saying he shouldn't sleep until that creature was killed and disposed of. When he rested his head on the desk, he felt sleep claim him quickly, like someone had dropped a heavy blanket on his mind.

"Waits!" someone hissed.

Was he dreaming or was someone calling his name? Who was calling his name?

"Waits!"

Was it Lingard? No, the voice was male and heavily accented . . .

"Waits, wake up, mate!" Sterling shook Waits's shoulder.

Half-sitting up, Waits tried to shake the sleep from his mind. He swallowed before turning to see Sterling standing next to him. "What?" he moaned.

"We've got . . . another problem. Suddenly, calls flooded in from people claiming androids are malfunctioning. They're trapped in their apartments. Apollo's not responding."

"What do you mean, 'androids are malfunctioning?'"

"They're _attacking_ people. Random rooms are now restricted. I have no clue what's going on."

"If they're all connected to fucking Apollo, then they're _all_ malfunctioning. You have my permission to shoot them on sight. I don't want any of you leaving the Bureau without a shotgun." Waits stood up, and looked at Lissa. "You're not to go anywhere without an escort, understood?"

Lissa nodded, and put her head back on the desk.

As they left the office, Waits glanced at Sterling. "How're the bombs coming?"

"We don't enough material in the armory. I'm going to have to make some crude IEDs, and . . . that means I have to go over to Systech for it. No one's used those labs in years anyway."

"Alright, but you're not going alone."

* * *

The two didn't see any signs of the creature as they boarded a transit car to Lorenz Systech Spire. Both were armed with shotguns and revolvers, and Sterling was carrying a stun baton.

Things were quiet until Sterling took a breath. "I really am sorry about giving things to Ransome."

"Don't worry about it. You've been proving your loyalty over the last day or so," Waits replied.

Sterling was silent again. He looked at Waits. "He was planning on sending you my . . . my records from the Gold Coast police department, if I didn't do what he asked."

"When you say 'record,' do you mean you were arrested or something?"

"No. I was an officer, and I didn't have the most impressive service record. I was . . . mediocre, at best. Couldn't catch anyone. I had terrible luck. Such . . . terrible luck, and I was let go. I had to wait a year before I could take another job like this, and my record would follow. I didn't know if the Marshals would take me, but they did, yet I was afraid my luck would follow me, especially when they sent me _here_. To this empty place, where they knew there'd be no action, where they knew I wouldn't be able to fuck anything up."

"Well, you did fuck up by getting suckered by Ransome."

"I don't know how he got his hands on my records. That was what happened." Sterling took off his glasses, sighing as tears filled his big violet eyes. "I guess the others have nothing he can use against them. Just me."

"You know, if you spoke to me in private about that, I wouldn't have assumed you were a willing mole."

Sterling shook his head. "I was afraid of you. And I knew Hazelton wasn't going to do anything. The others-the Marshals who've already left-all said you were loathed among the ranks."

"I can't say that's true, but I also can't say it's not." Waits sighed. "I know I can be a bit harsh on people."

"Having worked with you closely now, I think . . . I think you mean well, even if you are a bit crude. You want the job done."

"Thanks. Wish you had said so earlier."

"When we head to Gateway, at least . . . at least that'll give us a chance to start fresh."

Waits nodded. "Yeah." He managed a smile. "You're a good kid, Sterling. I'm sorry for putting a gun to your head earlier."

"Apology accepted, mate."

The transit car stopped in the Systech Spire. Waits stood up first, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder while waiting for Sterling. They were both nervous as they left the car, and neither thought the other was weak because of it.

They were greeted with near-total darkness. Sterling seemed to know where he needed to go for that material, so he led, and Waits followed. They were on edge, glancing around, jumping at every shadow that moved.

A sound made them both freeze. It sounded like a scream. They jogged toward the source, in one of the labs-

A door suddenly slammed shut in front of them. Through the window, Waits could see the creature looming over a petrified maintenance worker. Nearby, the corpse of the man's partner lay, nearly torn apart. The blade on the creature's tail was covered in blood and shreds of tissue and flesh.

"I can't get the door open!" Sterling shouted.

"They must've locked it from the inside," Waits said. "Goddammit, that thing's gonna kill him!"

"I'm working as fast as I-"

He was too late. Inside the room, the man's screaming was cut short when the beast rammed its inner jaw through his skull. He twitched once, maybe twice, then lay still. Waits expected the creature to feed on the corpses, but it didn't. It just left them.

"What the fuck?" Waits murmured.

Sterling was paler than he had ever been. He couldn't take his eyes off the carnage that had taken place just seconds ago.

"Son, don't open that door-" Waits shoved Sterling behind him when the creature screeched and charged at the door. It paused when it realized the door wouldn't open, and growled before turning away, leaping into a vent on the ceiling.

"I wasn't even close to opening it," Sterling said, softly.

"It just murdered them. Son-of-a-bitch is worse than an animal." Waits couldn't comprehend this in the slightest. He was in shock, appalled. "I'm gonna blow it straight back to hell." _I have to kill it before it gets to Lingard._

* * *

Sterling knelt with a box of assorted materials. Next to him were containers of explosive powders, and Waits held a flashlight over the box so Sterling could see. It was eerily silent, aside from Sterling mumbling to himself and the slight clinking of metal as he rummaged around.

"With this plus what we have in the armory, I have enough to make five charges," Sterling said.

"We'll need more than five."

"Frankly, I think it'd be safer if I just grabbed some boxes and we went back to the Bureau."

"Fine. Load up what you can."

"Aye, sir." Sterling began placing his materials in an empty box nearby. "When we get back, I think you should get some rest."

"I can't sleep while there's a monster on board and you all are working."

"Mate, you _need_ sleep. I saw you earlier, before we got all those calls about the Joes. You were conked out on your desk, and it took me awhile to rouse you. You need to rest, and you need to get some food and water in you. You've been powering through the last thirty hours on an empty stomach."

Waits knew Sterling was right, and he was starting to trust the younger man. The tiredness of earlier was threatening to seep back into his brain, but he wasn't feeling thirst or hunger. Just tiredness. He couldn't let the desire for sleep overtake him just yet, though.

Thinking about it did no good. Waits struggled to stay awake and focused as Sterling carefully organized his materials and set the boxes on top of one another to carry back to the Bureau. He wondered if the skinny man would even be able to carry them all to the transit, but someone needed to have their hands free to use a weapon.

Waits took some of the burden off of Sterling by taking his shotgun, revolver, and stun baton. Slowly, Sterling lifted all four boxes. He couldn't see past his load, so Waits put himself on high alert. He listened carefully for anything out of place. His ears pricked when he heard footsteps that weren't his own or Sterling's.

A Working Joe stepped out of the shadows, marching toward them. "You have entered a restricted area. I'll have to report this to Apollo," it said.

"Kiss my ass," Waits grumbled. He lifted his shotgun, blasting the android's head to pieces. White fluid sprayed and spurted from the android's body as it crumpled to the floor. Waits looked at Sterling, and shrugged, giving a lopsided smirk. "That felt good."

Sterling actually smiled back.

* * *

Waits didn't find someplace quiet to sleep until he knew the Bureau was locked. He couldn't sleep just yet after that, though; on his computer was a new message. He thought it was another civilian calling about a malfunctioning android, but was much happier to see it was from Lingard.

Her message wasn't very happy.

"_Waits, I saw the creature. What happened? You said you and your officers were going to trap it in the habitation towers. Are you OK?_

"_Morley's been getting stressed the last few hours. We have no idea where Kuhlman is, and the other doctors and nurses aren't happy with having to stay out of the hospital. Some are scared, some are frustrated. I had to get into an argument with someone who started blaming you for this. I know this isn't your fault, sweetie. I figured it was best to let everyone take a break. They retreated to the lounge, and Morley and I stayed outside the hospital to watch the patients. I hated watching Morley break down; he's usually so much more upbeat and willing to work. He's at his breaking point. I let him go off for a smoke break, and that's when it happened._

"_Something huge and black as ebony crawled out of a vent. It grabbed someone in a bed. Everyone who was awake started screaming. The patient was screaming. You could hear their screams echoing in the vent when that thing dragged him in. I didn't know what to do. What do you suggest?_"

Waits sighed and rubbed his face. The tiredness receded a little. His brain was a mess of sleepiness and worry for Lingard. Two obscenely strong forces pushed and pulled at each other. His primal needs and his love.

His love won out, and he immediately sent a reply to Lingard.

"_We planned on trapping the son-of-a-bitch in the lower mall, but that didn't work out. I called my team down, but I was nearly jumped. I was chased into the mall and had to hide out in one of the stores. Sterling and the others arrived, but the creature escaped before anyone could destroy it-went up a vent in the wall. Sterling and I followed, but when we realized there was no way we could trap it and shoot easily, I decided to form a new plan. We'll trap it in a room full of explosives._

"_Just keep me updated on where you see it. I won't do anything without letting you know beforehand. I promise._

"_For the record, I'm OK. A little rattled, but OK. I kinda figured you'd be worried, especially since I'm worried about you. I really don't want you to get hurt, and it'd make me feel a lot better if you were able to come shelter in the Bureau. You and Morley. I know you can't. Just remember what I said last night-if things get bad, come to me. If you can't escape, I'll come to you._

"_This'll be over soon, honey. I send you hugs and kisses._"

He sent his message, then put his head on his desk. Like earlier, sleep came as soon as it noticed Waits's mind was vulnerable. He just wished the comfort of sleep was the same as the comfort of Lingard's embrace.

* * *

_Question: How would Waits have handled Towers?_


	23. Chapter 23

_2137_

More time had passed. More people had disappeared, and, worse yet, more people were placing blame on Waits and the Marshals. It wasn't the first time in his career that he felt powerless, but it was the first time Waits had found a sizable portion of the population he had swore to protect was turning against him. It was painful to watch and endure, and he knew he had to do something about it. He needed trust restored. He needed people to listen to him.

He knew it would be potentially dangerous, but Waits settled on having the civilians gather in the Spaceflight Terminals. He wouldn't say anything about the creature-that would just cause more panic. _All I do know is that those transports are supposed to be on their way._ It made him sick to think he had no exact date for when those transports would arrive. He knew some were coming from as far away as LV-109. Some could have stopped for refueling for all he knew.

But, he figured that was the best thing he could tell everyone. Help was coming. They wouldn't be stuck on Sevastopol for much longer.

He kept his plan for the meeting between himself and his Marshals, plus Lissa. He figured having a civvie who trusted him would be a gesture of peace. The night before the meeting, he was on a video call with Lingard. He felt it was harmless to tell her; after all, she was a doctor, and she and Morley probably needed to expect injuries related to a potential riot.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?" Lingard asked.

"I'm sure, honey," Waits replied. "I gotta say something to everyone before this gets worse."

"I think it's going to get worse no matter what you do." Lingard fell silent for a moment. "Would you like me there with you? Maybe having a medical officer there will show . . . solidarity? Cooperation? Peace, even?"

Waits paused to think, rubbing his face. Part of him wanted to say "yes," but he was afraid of Lingard getting hurt if things got out of control. "I appreciate the offer, sweetheart, but . . . things could get dangerous, and I don't want something happening to you."

"If that's how you feel, I won't pressure you."

Waits nodded. "I don't want you to get hurt. I'd never forgive myself."

"OK. Get some sleep, alright?"

A weak smile crossed Waits's face. "Wish we were sleeping together, huh?"

"Yes. Few more weeks, and we'll be able to sleep together every single night." Lingard grinned. "Good luck tomorrow, Waits."

* * *

Waits barely got any sleep, despite Lingard's orders. It wasn't his fault, though; it wasn't easy to get comfortable at his desk, and he was up at all hours, unable to fall asleep, unable to feel like this meeting was going to be a success.

He was up earlier than the other Marshals. He noticed Sterling stirring a little where he was laying, but didn't say anything. Lissa was still fast asleep in her chair. As quietly as he could, Waits poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't sure he was ready. _Maybe this wasn't a good idea._

Outside the Bureau, there was no movement. He would never get used to that. He felt isolated and alone. But, he was also in charge, and the last thing he wanted to do was hide from those he promised to protect.

Once everyone else was awake, Waits had all his Marshals check their revolvers. "Keep 'em holstered," Waits said. "We don't want anyone thinking we're there to hurt them." He looked at Lissa. "I want you to stay close to us, OK? I don't know what kinda people are gonna be there, and I don't want you or anyone else getting hurt."

Lissa nodded. "Yes, sir."

Waits fell silent, biting his tongue, then looking Lissa in the eye. "Are you . . . OK with this? I hope you don't feel like we're using you as a human shield."

"It's OK," she said. "I know why you want me there. I . . . I know you're doing everything you can, and . . . if . . . if my husband were still here, he'd be behind you."

"Alright." Waits let out his breath. "Stay behind us. If people get violent, the first thing you're gonna do is run to the elevator. Sterling, I want you to escort her out if it comes to it."

Sterling nodded in Waits's direction.

"OK." Waits looked around the room. "Let's get this over with."

They filed out to the elevator to get to the Spaceflight Terminals. Waits couldn't deny he was anxious and wondering if this was a good decision, but there was no going back now. As they left the elevator, he could see a good-sized crowd of people gathered. A knot formed in his stomach. _Don't look afraid._ He swallowed past a lump in his throat.

"Just what the fuck is going on, Marshal?" someone at the front of the crowd shouted.

"Keep your shirt on," Waits said. He stood where he could address everyone. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Ross was standing in front of Lissa, with Sterling beside her. "Could I have your attention, please?"

"You can have our attention if you tell us why the hell you've been avoiding everyone for the last several weeks!"

"We can have a fucking Q-and-A session afterward!" Waits growled. "Shut up and listen to me for once! Now, we do have transports coming. I don't know when they're arriving. I know some are coming from Gateway, or LV-510 or LV-109 or God knows where else, but their captains haven't responded to me."

"How's that supposed to help the fact that people are disappearing every single day?! What're you doing about that?!"

"We're doing everything we can!"

There was soon so much talking and yelling that Waits couldn't get another word out, aside from, "Get down!" when something was thrown at him and his men.

_Oh, I knew this was a bad idea!_ Waits was struck in the shoulder by an empty beer can. "Alright, let's get the fuck outta here!" he shouted.

A split second passed. He saw the glint of a revolver's barrel, and it wasn't from one of the Marshals. Someone in the front of the civilian crowd was wielding it. Waits grappled for his own, trying to keep his eye on that other weapon at the same time.

Time seemed to slow. The gun went off, but Waits wasn't sure where the bullet went when he ducked for cover. "Son-of-a-bitch!" he hissed.

"She's been hit! She's been hit!" Sterling shouted.

"What?!" Waits hollered.

"Lissa! She's been hit! We have to get her out of here!"

Waits could see blood pooling near him on the metal floor. "Don't just stand there, dammit!" He scrambled to his feet, helping Sterling pick up Lissa. "Put her in the life support system in the Bureau! I'll call Lingard as soon as we get up there!"

Sterling shifted Lissa to fumble for his revolver, hands shaking.

"Don't bother! Just help me get her out of here!" Waits watched the rest of his Marshals run into the elevator, then punched a button to close the door. He looked down at Lissa. Blood was covering her torso. Her shirt was nearly soaked with it.

They moved quickly to get her in the Bureau's life support. Waits was frantic, hands shaking as he hung up an IV drip bag-

"Waits, she's dead," Sterling said, softly.

"No," Waits moaned.

"Look." Sterling gestured to an ugly, gaping wound in Lissa's stomach. "She's not breathing, and I'm not finding a pulse. She's gone."

Waits nearly collapsed. "Jesus Christ. No . . . Dammit. Dammit."

"I'm sorry, mate. I know you cared and wanted to help her out after her husband was killed."

A growl started deep in Waits's throat. A blend of grief and anger surged in his chest. Of all people, he had to lose Lissa. She was completely innocent. Of all people, why her? It hurt him to think about how . . . cold-blooded this became. _This has to end. This has got to end soon._

* * *

Sevastopol was falling into chaos. That was plain to see.

Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. What remained of the population had gone from a relatively quiet group of people to a number of factions once supplies dwindled and more and more people had seen the alien monster. Reports of disappearances had been a daily occurrence, but once everyone decided to go their own way, turn their backs on Waits, the calls stopped.

Not that long after the riot in the terminal, Ross had disappeared. Deserted. A part of Waits had felt this would happen sooner or later, but he was hoping it wouldn't. He was hoping this would unite his team rather than split it apart. He had been wrong.

Sterling had made enough explosives for three traps. Had the population been more cooperative, they would have been able to set them wherever they wanted. Moving people was usually a simple task. Now, they wouldn't. They claimed they didn't trust the Marshals anymore. Why? So many reasons. They didn't trust Waits. They wanted answers, answers Waits couldn't give.

"_What are we seeing?_"

_I don't know._

"_When are we getting out?_"

_I don't know._

"_Why won't you tell the truth?_"

_I am telling the truth. Go where I tell you. You'll be safer there. Stop fighting with me. I'm not your enemy here. There's something so much worse . . ._

The alien would go where people were, hunt them in silence, and Waits couldn't do a damn thing. There were some groups who hated him so much over his interference with the black market, they'd shoot at him before shooting at the alien.

It meant Ransome finding out was inevitable, and Ransome wasn't interested in killing the creature. He wanted it trapped, sure, but just captured. Caged, and sold. Waits didn't care what Ransome's connections were, who his connections were. It was obvious Ransome had only his interests at heart when Waits listened to his latest message. His own interests and his spite for Waits.

Ransome knew just the right buttons to push on Waits. The man had the balls to tell Waits "_you're getting old. You can't do this forever._"

Waits had heard this so many times that he should be numb to it, but it wasn't something he could really numb himself to. How many people over the course of his life had told him he couldn't do this job forever? So many. So many, he couldn't count them all. He couldn't even remember them all, who had said it, or when they said it.

After being trapped in total isolation on an orbital spaceport, after going through the horrific war on LV-112, after the transport _Burgoyne_ was hijacked, everyone Waits knew was shocked he kept going. Especially after LV-112 ten years ago, when he started hearing things that weren't there. A simple walk with his sister in Boston became a nightmare when a car backfired. He pulled her down, shouting, telling her to stay down. That same day, back in Deerfield, there was a fireworks display in a park. He couldn't handle it. He was under a desk, handgun drawn, terrified. An alien jet fighter was going to strafe the bunker any minute . . .

There was blood everywhere. He was screaming for help. Half the Marshals trapped inside were dead or dying. He kept screaming despite his lungs being flooded with ash and debris. The gloved hand of a Marine reached in, grabbing his, escorting what remained of his group to an APC. What happened next, Waits could only remember in fragments. He remembered vomiting blood and debris, a medtech shouting that they needed an evac for the wounded. He remembered losing consciousness . . . waking up somewhere else, a ship, maybe. Faintly, he remembered searing pain in his torso. _Inside_ his torso. His lungs were nearly scorched by breathing in so much ash. He had to be forced to vomit more to clear out any toxic debris he may have swallowed. There was so much blood in it. Everything smelled like it had been burnt badly.

Those fragments haunted him, in sleep and in waking. He couldn't escape them.

Yet he pressed on. He returned to work. He got an assignment to LV-510, in the city of Netrayas, and coped with his trauma on his own. A big hill overlooking the downtown shoreline district was his place of solitude. Trees sheltered him from the view of the people living in the suburbs. Around sunset, he'd go and sit, alone with nothing but his thoughts.

Waits struggled with post-traumatic stress for over a year, and found just sitting on that hill, alone, was somewhat helpful. He didn't want to get actual help, as he was afraid of someone finding out. He was afraid of someone suggesting he quit, and find something less intense if _this_ was going to be his brain's reaction. He didn't want to quit. He needed to prove himself. Prove he can get past it.

While around other Marshals, he had to suppress the urges to hide, to cower, whenever he heard a loud sound. It didn't take long to realize that the flashbacks were almost uncontrollable. They hit with the force of a train, often rendering him frozen in place, eyes staring ahead, clearly lost in his own mind. That hill was the only place where he could unleash his emotions. He could cry, and no one would ever know.

A part of him wished intensively that someone would see him cry. Wished someone would offer help, or comfort. Something. But he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone. He hardly knew the Marshals at his post. His sister was all the way back on Earth. The most she had said was that he needed help, but he couldn't accept that.

So he suffered with it, until it receded like a fog. Privately, he knew he didn't "bounce back." It was buried somewhere in his brain. The screaming, the smell and taste of blood and ash, the gunfire, the sound of missiles shrieking overhead. Where was it buried? He was constantly afraid of digging it up by accident. He definitely didn't want it emerging here. It would be as forceful and as vile as the worm coming out of that woman's chest, and he thought about that the whole day after getting Ransome's message.

It would be proof that he couldn't do this job forever. It would be proof he was a failure, that the residents of Sevastopol couldn't look up to him for safety and protection.

At least his trauma wasn't made known to Ransome. But that's what happened in his nightmares. It came out, in the form of a worm. He had been patrolling the mall when he felt pain encompassing his chest and belly. He fell to his knees, and blood erupted from his chest as ribs snapped. A piece of his sternum was pushed out of the gaping wound by a screaming little parasite. And Ransome was watching. He grinned at Waits before leaning over to grab the bloody worm, saying, "I'll take that. Thanks."

He jolted upright at his desk after that, feeling sick. He knew Ransome was self-serving, but he didn't think the man was this nuts. Who the hell would want to buy such a dangerous animal anyway? Was this a last-ditch effort for Ransome to secure something in order to escape Sevastopol and Waits's wrath when this was over? Most likely.

Waits ignored Ransome's message. He couldn't take this seriously, especially since it was just pure insanity laced with insults. Nothing was worse than people outright saying, or hinting at him needing to quit, because he had heard it his whole career.

* * *

They thought they had the creature trapped in a sector near the Spaceflight Terminals. Sterling held his breath as he watched the creature emerge from a vent.

"Now!" Waits growled.

Sterling pressed a button on a control panel in front of him. A second later, they felt the shockwaves of the explosion. Several heartbeats of silence passed before Sterling turned to Waits. "If that didn't take care of it, I don't know what will."

"Well, we can't celebrate just yet. We've already had two traps sprung with no results. This one might be no different." Waits sighed, wishing he could sound more optimistic.

"I'm not seeing anything on the cameras," Sterling said. "I'll let you know what happens, sir."

Waits took a long moment to think, and closed his eyes. "I think we need to call the Marines."

"What?"

"You heard me, son. We need to call the Marines. We can't handle this anymore."

"It'll take weeks for-"

"It's better than nothing." Waits headed into his office, putting on a headset and tapping a key to activate long-range communication.

_What the hell . . . ?_ Waits cycled through every channel. They were all static or blank. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he snarled under his breath. He turned a knob, moving through channels, trying to hear something. The only active channels were local, on Sevastopol. He turned another knob, getting nothing.

Panic flooded his mind. He had never felt this panicked before . . .

But, he had.

The panic was enough to churn up the soil burying his memories. It seemed as though what happened last week with Ransome's message and now _this_ would bring his trauma back to the surface of his brain. He was powerless against it, but he fought it. Panicking and breaking would not pull Sevastopol through this.

_I am the only thing standing between Sevastopol and outright disaster.  
_

_I am the only thing standing between my Marshals and complete annihilation._

"Waits?"

Sterling's voice broke his thoughts. Waits took off his headset, and turned in his chair to face the younger Marshal. He controlled his expression, trying to swallow a building emotional explosion.

"I . . ." Sterling paled. "Video feed. The . . . The creature . . . it's . . . W-We missed. Again."

If he mustered the strength to react, Waits knew there would be no holding back on the eruption inside him. He couldn't react with frustration. It would provide a valve for the pressure, but he couldn't control the valve. Not anymore. All he did was nod. "Figures," he muttered.

He could still think somewhat clearly, and knew there was only one person on this entire station who could put his mind back on track.

The journey would be dangerous, but, more than ever, he wanted to see Lingard. It was worth the risk.

"Waits? Are you alright?" Sterling asked, quietly.

"I'm fine." Waits stood, trying to look as though he had everything under control. "I . . . have to go over to San Cristobal. Personal reasons."

Sterling didn't argue. "Lingard?" he whispered.

Waits nodded. "I wanna make sure she's OK, and . . . I just need to talk to her. Alone."

"You yourself said no one is to leave without a partner, and you know certain people have become extremely hostile toward you. Sinclair-"

"I know about Sinclair. He's got a real small pair of balls if he thinks cutting ties with us is gonna save his ass, and he's killing people he doesn't know, or people he knows support me. He's a coward, and I don't give a damn whether he lives or dies here. I'll piss on his corpse for what he's done to me. He let the black market flourish, and he let that garbage dump of a man Marlow on board with his infected bitch."

Sterling was quiet for a moment, nearly unfazed by Waits's rage toward the head of Seegson Security. "I was . . . going to offer to come with you. I won't bother you and Lingard."

Waits handed a shotgun to Sterling. "Fine."

Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, Sterling glanced at the other Marshals. "Everyone's going out to set another trap. Is it a good idea to leave the Bureau empty?"

Waits bit his lip, then sighed. "We'll lock up. That's the only thing we can do."

Sterling nodded. "I'll take care of that for you, sir."

"Good. Then let's head out."

* * *

Much of Sevastopol was now dark, either because electrical systems had failed, or because people had shut the lights off to keep themselves hidden. Waits was coming to hate the darkness, but he wasn't sure if he hated the darkness itself, or what lurked inside it.

What used to be a simple trip was now a dangerous journey. Waits compared it to a warzone. _LV-112._ He swallowed hard. _Steady, Jethro . . ._

Every corner and every vent-every shadow-was a place where something could hide. Waits walked ahead of Sterling. He knew his presence made them targets, but he also knew hiding would make him a coward. He needed to be out there, fighting, showing everyone that he wasn't someone who backed down easily, someone who scared easily.

Right now, he was scared. The fact that long-range communication was down scared him. They were on their own.

He didn't want to think about it. Once this creature was destroyed, he'd be able to get someone to fix the comms, or one of the transports would come. They would all be able to ditch this thing, although Waits was afraid of the creature somehow getting on board a transport. He couldn't risk that happening, but how could he prevent that from happening? Aside from destroying the son-of-a-bitch, of course.

When they got on the transit to SciMed, Waits tried not to let his mind wander. He had spent a long time trying to keep his memories of past assignments buried, and now they were coming back. He had spent a long time trying to prove to everyone he met that he was worth having around, that he was good at his job despite his rough demeanor.

He had spent a long time trying to prove he cared. He knew within his heart that he cared about those around him, but it was tough to show. Few could see inside him. Few gave him a chance. Lingard was one of them. She saw who he really was, and loved him for it. She accepted him. In return, he loved her. He cared for her when she didn't care for herself.

He couldn't count how many nights he had gone down to San Cristobal in the dead of night to shake Lingard awake at her desk. She'd argue with him, but she was usually too tired to really resist him. She couldn't deny that he was right and she needed sleep. Waits would then walk her all the way back to her apartment. If she was too tired, he'd carry her. Sometimes, he wondered if she pretended to be that tired because she liked him carrying her. He could remember her putting her arms around his neck, holding onto him.

When Sevastopol became more and more empty, there were a lot of open spaces where they could walk without anyone observing them. It was the closest they would get to a walk in the park, or a city street. Waits was always the one to initiate the hand-holding. He would feel Lingard squeeze his hand, intertwine her fingers with his. They walked slowly, with Lingard resting her head on Waits's shoulder. It was blissful, happy. Waits wished those moments would last forever.

The transit car stopping shook Waits from his thoughts and memories. He gave a quiet sigh, hoping and praying that he and Lingard would be able to take those walks again soon.

He wasn't thinking about his romance for very long; when he and Sterling walked to the hospital, they were all horrified to see many of the beds and wheelchairs were now empty. Some had bloodstains covering them. When Waits saw Morley, he called to him. "What the hell happened here?"

"A lot." Morley sounded lost for words. "It wasn't just . . . the creature. We were ambushed a few nights ago. People looking to steal our supplies." He looked tired. The shine in his eyes was just about gone. He didn't want to talk about what really happened.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. Lingard's fine."

Waits looked down at his boots, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. There was nothing he could say that would make this situation better. "We're doing the best we can," he said.

Morley nodded, still looking like the shadow of the happy man he once was.

"Sterling, stay out here and watch on the rest of the patients," Waits ordered, gently. He walked up to Morley, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry."

Morley took a breath. "This isn't your fault, Waits. I . . . I don't know what we're going to do with the remaining patients."

"I don't have enough men to guard them, not with everything else we're doing."

"We can't abandon them."

"I'm not saying we're going to abandon them. I don't know what we're going to do. I'm doing my best to take care of this damn creature. It'll walk into one of our traps sooner or later, and then this'll all be over." Waits tried to contend with a feeling of hopelessness building in his chest. "Can I talk to Lingard?"

"Yes. She's in her office."

After patting Morley's shoulder, Waits headed into the hospital. The door to Lingard's office was open, but Waits knocked anyway when he saw her sitting at her desk, staring absentmindedly at a folder in front of her. "Hey," he said.

Lingard stood up, and ran to him, jumping in his arms. "Waits," she sobbed.

"Hi." Waits hugged her, and kissed her forehead. "You OK?"

"I don't know anymore. Did you-"

"Morley told me what happened. And, no, we . . . we haven't destroyed the creature yet." Waits let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I really-"

"I'm just glad you're alive."

"I'm glad you're alive, too," Waits replied, kissing Lingard again. "Can I talk to you? Just . . . I need you."

Lingard nodded. They sat behind the desk after closing the door, and Waits tried to explain what was going on inside his head. He told her about Ransome's message, about their repeat failures to destroy the alien, about what it unraveled in his mind. He told her about what had happened on LV-112, and how the aftermath connected to now.

"It was ten years ago. Nothing about it should connect to this situation, and yet . . . it does. I don't know why. Why's it coming up now?" Waits asked.

"Because you feel helpless, like you did back then," Lingard replied. "You don't want anyone to know you feel helpless. You're in charge of a group of fragmented people, like you were on LV-112. There's death, there's destruction. It's different, but it's the same, and it's waking up those memories you thought you wouldn't have to deal with ever again."

"I buried them."

"And you shouldn't have buried them. You told me the same thing when I told you about my miscarriage-I can't just keep that memory to myself if it hurts that bad. You can't do that, either."

Sighing, Waits nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not the most easy thing in the world to talk about. I just . . . I wish you told me sooner."

"I wish I did, too. I wasn't thinking about it, though. I thought . . . I thought-"

"Thought it wouldn't come back to haunt you."

"Yeah. Exactly. Again, I'm-"

"Don't be sorry, Waits. Please. You didn't expect this to happen." Lingard gently squeezed Waits's shoulders. "You told me now. It's better than nothing."

"What can I do? I don't want anyone to know I'm . . . I'm falling apart."

"You're not falling apart. You're human. You have your own struggles. We all do." Her grip on him tightened. "I have faith in you. Does that mean anything?"

"Yes."

"Good. If nothing else, just . . . think of me. We're going to get through this. Together. In no time, we'll be in cryosleep on our way to Gateway, and we'll start a new life together. If anything, _that_ thought should keep you going. It's kept me going the last few weeks."

"Yeah." Waits released his breath. "Seeing you helps, too. You've been the only person who makes me feel like . . . I'm not a complete waste of space. You haven't forced me to change for your liking. You're . . . You're also the most beautiful woman I ever met, and . . ." Waits blushed, looking down.

Lingard grinned, lifting Waits's chin to see his blush. "You really do turn to mush every time you see me."

"I do." Waits looked into Lingard's eyes. "I'm a tough guy, but I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Bet now you're happy I did say something when I saw you stumbling to your apartment to throw up the day after you arrived."

"I'm very happy you said something. Who'd have thought . . . that would be the start of something wonderful."

They stayed still for a moment, before Lingard hugged Waits as tight as she could. "I'm also happy I'm the person you feel like you can be vulnerable around."

"Well, good. That was one of the things I've wanted in a relationship. Someone to be vulnerable around. And you're the same way around me."

"Yeah."

Neither of them said a word for several minutes. Waits rested his head on top of Lingard's, rubbing her back. "I have to head back to the Bureau soon," he whispered. "I still wish . . ." He trailed off, knowing Lingard's response.

"Until that creature picks off every patient, I'm staying here," she replied. "I can't abandon them, or Morley."

"OK. Just remember what I told you. If it comes down to it, I will come down here, guns a-blazing, to rescue you, and that's a promise."

"I know. I just hope it doesn't come to it."

* * *

_Question: If more of the population of Sevastopol had survived and escaped, how should Waits punish Ransome for his actions on the station, both before and during the infestation?_


	24. Chapter 24

_2137_

"Waits?" Sterling knocked on Lingard's office door. "I just got a message from Harris. The next trap was set."

"OK," Waits replied, not looking away from Lingard. He let out a sigh. "Guess that means I have to get going."

Lingard nodded. "Good luck. I love you."

They gripped each other's hands tightly. Waits couldn't bear to pull away from her. Eventually, he did, after giving her a kiss on the forehead.

Waits felt empty as he followed Sterling out of the hospital, but he managed to refocus himself as they entered the dark hall to the transit station. Something wasn't right out here . . .

A shot went off. Waits grabbed Sterling, pushing him behind a couple of heavy-duty trash cans. "Get down!" he yelled, taking out his shotgun.

The helmeted heads of Seegson Security guards appeared from behind random large objects lying on the ground. They lifted revolvers and shotguns, firing in Waits's direction. Using the big plastic cans for cover, Waits emerged once, shooting back at the guards.

Sterling stood up, providing cover fire for Waits. He ducked back down to reload, then popped back up, nailing one of the guards in the head with his first shot.

The halls echoed with shouts and gunshots. Waits got next to Sterling, sliding more shotgun shells into his weapon. He pumped the shotgun, but before he could get back up, Sterling yelled, "Smoke bomb, stay down!"

One of the guards hurled a smoke bomb in their direction. A pale-gray cloud quickly enveloped them. Waits shielded Sterling with his own body. Coughing, Waits reached into his jacket to pull his undershirt over his nose and mouth. Sterling was already doing the same.

Waits resisted the urge to scream for help. He had to resist so hard, his entire body convulsed. He began shivering, and groaned with the effort of forcing those urges back down his throat.

A clicking sound jerked him from his thoughts. "Get up!" a man's voice snarled.

The smoke had begun clearing, and Waits looked around to see several Seegson Security guards surrounding their cover.

"I said, 'get up!'" the guard shouted again.

Waits slowly stood up. He glanced over at Sterling, who stood with his hands away from his revolver and shotgun.

From behind the guard, Waits saw Sinclair approaching the group, snarling. "Hey, I told you people we're not negotiating with anyone. Shoot 'em and take their stuff."

"It's Waits!"

"And I told you to shoot the fucker a long time ago, remember?"

Waits let a heartbeat pass, then turned to tackle the guard nearest to him. The guard's shotgun went off, buckshot peppering the wall harmlessly. The two wrestled on the floor, until the much heavier Waits was on top of the guard. Waits took out his revolver, shoving the barrel against the man's helmet, and firing a single shot. Blood sprayed onto the floor, and Waits swore he saw brain matter, too.

Sterling cursed when his shotgun ran out of ammunition, then swung it like a baseball bat at Sinclair. The muzzle of the weapon caught the back of Sinclair's head, and he fell, unconscious. Blood trickled down from under his helmet. "Come on!" Sterling yelled, grabbing Waits's arm. He dragged the older man toward the transit. "Go! Run, mate!"

They abruptly realized that the guards had grabbed Sinclair and were running off in their own direction, toward San Cristobal.

"No! Lingard! _Lingard!_" Waits howled.

"We don't have enough ammunition to fight all of them!" Sterling shouted.

"They're gonna kill her!" Waits wailed.

"She's a doctor! They'll most likely force her to work with them to treat injuries!"

A lump rose in Waits's throat, and he let out a sob. Tears dripped to the floor, and something else did, too, from above them. Something clear and thick.

"Oh, God," Sterling whispered, breathlessly. "It's-"

He pushed Waits toward the transit stop when he heard the alien hiss and screech. Then the bladed tip of the creature's tail shoved its way through Sterling's back. Waits felt sick as he heard bones snap and organs rupture. Sterling hollered in pain. His body trembled, and blood exploded from the wound as his heart was pierced. The blade of the creature's tail emerged from Sterling's chest. He struggled to breathe. Blood was cascading down his uniform, then the creature withdrew its tail. Sterling stood for a moment, on the border of life and death, closer to death. His violet eyes stared blankly at Waits before he collapsed.

"No . . ." Waits wanted to throw up. He had nothing in his stomach to expel.

The creature, perched on a pipe below the ceiling, turned its eyeless head to Waits. It appeared to be grinning, and Waits paled, feeling his empty stomach clench and heave. He could see the transit car doors from the corner of his eye, and dashed toward them, leaving Sterling's corpse.

When the doors closed behind him, Waits grew more dizzy. He gripped the railing, and slowly lowered himself into a seat. He couldn't believe what just happened. Not that long ago, Sterling was with him, alive. He couldn't believe that creature had killed Sterling. He couldn't believe he was the only one left alive.

* * *

Waits could hardly stand with the horrible clenching feeling in his stomach. When the transit stopped in the habitation towers, he was still in shock that he had left with Sterling by his side, and now he was alone. He was racked with grief. Grief, shock, horror. Emotions he couldn't decipher at the moment.

The doors opened, and Waits staggered out of the transit car. He didn't know how to tell the others what happened. His whole body ached. His insides ached, starting in his core and spreading to his extremities, coursing like the blood in his veins. First Lissa during the riot. Now Sterling to the creature. He couldn't believe he had lost two people he had gotten so close to in such a short amount of time. The shock was throbbing and painful.

He had gotten to know Lissa over the last several weeks. She was an electrician, who met her husband on Sevastopol. It was a small wedding, not very fancy, but none of that mattered as they loved each other. They planned on having kids when they were in a more stable place. With that no longer an option, Waits had asked her what she would do when everyone finally got off Sevastopol.

"I don't know," she had said. "I didn't . . . anticipate this happening."

Waits nodded. "I really am sorry this happened to you." He offered a hand of support, and Lissa took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps . . . you could come with me to Gateway when we get outta here. I'll help you out with getting a place to start out. You're a smart girl, and talented with wires. They always need people like that on Gateway."

Lissa smiled at him. "I'll give it some thought, Marshal."

It would be awhile before he opened up about himself with her. He felt like she needed a friend, someone to pull her through this situation.

"Is there . . . someone you love, Marshal?" she asked late one night.

Waits glanced at her, eyes bloodshot and lined with dark circles. "Why do you ask?"

"Curious. You have that look like . . . you're thinking about someone. You have this look of longing."

"Well, if you really want to know, yes, I've got someone I really like. She works in San Cristobal. We met about two-and-a-half years ago. Didn't instantly fall in love. It was gradual. We just . . . started liking each other, became friends, had some things in common." Waits gave a silent sigh. "Never met anyone like her, and . . . it hurts not being able to be near her."

"I can understand that," Lissa said.

Waits slowly became more comfortable talking with Lissa about his relationship. When they managed to get off Sevastopol, he gradually became more serious about taking her with him and Lingard to Gateway, to help her out. Now, that wasn't happening. The pain in his chest worsened when he realized he wouldn't have her company in the Bureau anymore.

Or Sterling's.

He found it hard to believe that he once thought of Sterling as the biggest mole in the Bureau. Sure, Sterling did give things to Ransome that he shouldn't have, but at least he regretted his actions and proved his loyalty. Over the last several weeks, Waits had found that there were some who weren't loyal. Ross, for instance. He ditched everyone after the riot down in the terminals. Ross had gotten Lissa killed. If Sterling was a real rat, he would've left, too. He had a hundred options to leave, but he never took any. Sterling was resourceful, and looking to make up for his actions in the past. He led the hunt to arrest Marlow's crew.

Waits couldn't do it himself. He was afraid that if he saw Marlow or any of his crew members, he'd beat them for bringing that creature onboard the station. It wasn't easy for Waits to even look at them when Sterling brought them into the cells.

He continued to trust Sterling, even named Sterling his deputy just the week before. Now? He wasn't entirely sure who would be named in Sterling's place. Probably Ricardo, based on seniority.

Standing alone in the elevator, Waits wanted to throw up. A part of him felt like throwing up would get rid of all these painful feelings, but he knew it wouldn't. It would change nothing.

The elevator stopped, and Waits forced himself to leave, a dull ache continuing to pulse through his body. He felt like someone had taken a wrench to his stomach, twisted it hard, and left it there. His heart, too, hurt. He just couldn't believe Sterling and Lissa were gone.

_I couldn't save them, could I?_ Waits swallowed hard, tears welling up. _There had to be something I could've done!_

When he entered the Bureau, alone, the other Marshals turned to face him. Waits struggled not to look broken, defeated, but he couldn't break the news without tearing up. "That creature . . . killed Sterling."

Unable to face anyone, Waits disappeared into his office.

* * *

_To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA; Earth_

_From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station, KG-348 orbit; Zeta Reticuli System_

_Subject: Lost  
_

_Em,  
_

_It might be awhile before you get this message. At the time I'm writing this, long-range comms are down. I'm going to send this anyway. I don't know why, though. I'm starting to feel powerless.  
_

_I don't know when I'll get out of this. This is starting to wear on me.  
_

_I don't want you to panic when you get this. Hopefully, when you do get this, I'll be on my way home, and I can put this behind me. Just a nightmare. This'll all just be a nightmare.  
_

_I hope everything's going OK with you. I miss you. How's Micah doing? And his wife? I still wish I had gone to the wedding. I hope I can be there when they have kids. After this, I think I'm ready to be on the list of babysitters for them. No, I can't promise I won't swear around the kids. I just want them to remember me. I want to make up for so much lost time.  
_

_Don't worry, Em. I'll be home soon.  
_

_Love, Jethro_

* * *

Waits's throat closed after sending his message to Esmeralda. He would rather deal with Ashton's crap than this. He would rather deal with anything than this.

For the next few hours, Waits tried to compose himself. He waged a war within himself. _I can't break now. I have to keep fighting. I have to kill that creature and restore order. Son-of-a-bitch won't kill himself. Unless it's got a short fucking lifespan. Oh, God, I can only hope . . . but I can't bank on that._

He didn't have a lot of explosives left, nor did he know how to make more. That was all Sterling. He'd have to find someone else to do that. Or figure out a new plan of attack.

Despite the pain resonating from the loss of Sterling, Waits knew he still had the rest of Sevastopol to protect. He still had Lingard to protect. He needed to get that creature before it got to her.

He stared down at a map of the station in front of him. He couldn't explain why the explosive traps didn't work. Perhaps the delay in the charges was too long. The creature was able to leave the area before they detonated. Waits gave a frustrated sigh. _Sterling would've known had to shorten the fuse, but he's not here to fix it._ He took off his cap, running his fingers through his hair.

Who did he have left? Ricardo, Harris, Turner, and Garcia. Regardless of personal differences in the past, Waits needed to have faith in them. Then again, he had put faith in Ross not that long ago, and the son-of-a-bitch abandoned them. He would put faith in the rest of his men, but with caution.

It hurt to think he had to do that. No Head Marshal should ever have to look at his subordinates' loyalty skeptically. Waits was, by nature, a cautious person. It had kept him alive for the last forty-one years. He could never understand why people didn't like his guardedness. Did they want him to just blindly trust everyone? He certainly didn't. That could get him hurt, whether it be physically or emotionally. He wanted people to trust him, but he knew he needed to prove it through his actions, something he had been doing for most of his life.

He glanced over at the rest of his Marshals. _Alright. I'm trusting you. I need you to do the same for me._ He stood up, walking over to where Harris and Garcia were sitting at a row of screens showing security camera footage from all over the station. "See anything?"

"Not yet," Harris replied, quietly. "What're you thinking, Waits?"

"We don't have a lot of explosives left, so I don't want to be wasting them if we don't have anyone who can build more." Waits drew in a breath. "I say we trap it ourselves, pump it full of buckshot."

"Wasn't that the first thing we tried?"

"Yes, but I think our mistake was not trying again. We just have to corner it in a small space where it can't run, but we won't get hit with acid."

"Are you sure that's the idea you want to go with?"

"I'm tired of fighting this battle, but I'm not quitting now. Either we do something, or we let it have free run of Sevastopol. I'm done cowering in here."

There was movement on one of the screens in front of Harris. The three turned to see that huge, hideous alien walking in one of the corridors in Engineering.

"That's where we'll go," Waits said. "We're gonna confront it directly, but carefully. Get Turner. Load up your shotguns. We're gonna head down to Engineering in five minutes."

* * *

Waits regretted not hounding Command to send them body armor and other protective gear. He knew Seegson Security guards had body armor, but he didn't have time to go find them, fight, and steal their armor from their bodies. He hated the thought of doing that, but wasn't sure he had a choice if it came down to that.

When the four arrived in Engineering, the elevator doors opened to pitch-blackness. Waits turned on his flashlight, sweeping the area in front of him with it. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. He gestured for the others to follow him.

Waits was worried the creature had managed to escape them once more. Either it was still wandering Engineering, or it got into one of the spires. Engineering was a vast area, though. Anyone could get lost down there.

They were wary of the fact that groups of survivors could be hunkered down in the Decks, and not all of them would be friendly. _Just listen to your instincts, Jethro._ Waits struggled not to get jumpy at the slightest sound. He knew there was nothing wrong with being scared, but he couldn't show it on his face or in his body language.

A metallic scent hit them. Waits's stomach turned when they rounded a corner and saw swaths of blood covering the floor. A human body, mangled beyond all recognition, lay under a chair. _At least we know it's close. This is fresh._

They kept walking down the dark hallway. Eventually, they came to a corridor where the lights still worked, though some were flickering. Waits raised his hand to tell his Marshals to stop walking. "Flashlights off," he whispered. "Listen."

There was a muffled thumping sound. For a moment, Waits wondered if it was just his own heart he was hearing, but then the thumping stopped. Voices in another room started up. People were cursing and yelling, then there was a hiss and a shriek.

A horrible, wet crunching sound made Waits feel ill. A gunshot was heard, followed by the all-too-familiar sound of the alien piercing someone's body with its tail. The screaming stopped almost as quickly as it started.

_It's nearby. It's in the next fucking room._ Waits tried to swallow past his nerves. He tried to think of Sterling, and the nerves morphed to anger. _I'm gonna turn this critter into an acidic pulp._

They turned another corner. When they peered into the room, they didn't see the creature. The two bodies were laying near a door, which appeared to be locked.

"This . . . we can't do this," Turner muttered.

Waits glared at him. "What did you say?"

"Waits, that thing could be on the other side. This is a fool's errand. We can't fucking do this. It's too dangerous. We don't even know if our weapons can-"

Eyes narrowed to amber slits, Waits resisted the urge to grab Turner by the front of his shirt. "Are you planning on ditching us like Ross did? Huh?" He took the badge on Turner's jacket. "Do you remember what this means? Do you? You, me, and everyone else alive in this room has an obligation to kill that son-of-a-bitch and protect the people of Sevastopol. We didn't take the oath to cower in fear when a situation gets difficult. You wanna be remembered for running away? I'll gladly take your badge and give it to a fucking civvie more willing to fight than you. I've had enough of this." He let go of Turner's badge. "Garcia, get that door open."

The door had been sealed tight. Garcia had to hack into the code panel to reopen it. The door opened slowly, stopping almost halfway. Waits put the shotgun's sights to his right eye. "Let it go slow, Garcia, we'll be able to trap it easier-"

The creature screeched as it shoved the door open. It grabbed Garcia's right leg, knocking him the floor. His screams were cut short when his head struck the floor, rendering him unconscious. Waits dropped to grab Garcia's shoulders, trying to pull him away from the creature. The creature was stronger, yanking Garcia through the door and grabbing his head in its claws. Waits would be forever grateful that Garcia was unconscious as the alien crushed his skull. He didn't have to feel it, or see the ugly claws around his face.

Rage fueled Waits. He aimed his shotgun at the creature when it threw Garcia's body aside, but couldn't fire when it grabbed Harris. The younger Marshal struggled, screaming, before going limp after the alien yanked his head back to drive its inner jaw through the back of his skull.

"No! _No!_" Waits shouted. When the creature discarded Harris, it looked at Waits. He raised his shotgun. The creature hissed and charged at him, barreling over him. Waits felt his breath rush from his lungs, and the alien knocked his shotgun from his grip. He was stunned, struggling to breathe. He knew he had hit his head on the floor when he started seeing spots dance across his vision.

He could hear Turner's screams. He could faintly see the creature grabbing him, and racing up into the vents with him. Waits could hear struggling, and as he started to regain his vision, he could see a red rain coming down from the shaft.

Waits was still on his back, his shotgun nearby. Several heartbeats passed. His head throbbed as he forced himself to sit up. The creature hadn't returned. Garcia and Harris's bodies lay in front of the door, next to the two men they had heard being attacked before. Blood pooled under them, soaking their clothes. Harris was slumped against the doorway, blue eyes open, staring into nothingness. Garcia was sprawled out inside the hall the door led to. Waits couldn't bring himself to look at the younger Marshal's destroyed head. He had seen so much death and destruction before, but it wasn't something he could ever get used to. His thoughts turned to when he was trapped on LV-112. How much blood and gore filled that bunker in such a short period of time? How many of his Marshals died in that attack?

He couldn't remember the official numbers for the calculated dead and wounded. He had always blocked it from his mind. When he left Sevastopol, would he be able to remember how many people here had disappeared, how many had died? He didn't think he would.

Worse yet, they had all died while he was in charge. He knew that would be a stain on his record, but he didn't care about his record. It was his conscience, his morals, every promise he ever made as a Marshal since signing up at the age of eighteen. How could he live with the fact that he didn't do enough to save them?

Waits wasn't someone who cried very often. A thick and heavy mix of emotions had swelled within his chest. He was still seated, still surrounded by blood and carnage. He hung his head, looking down. Exhaustion and grief and guilt were crushing him deep inside. Three of his Marshals were gone-just like that. Tears rolled down his face. His sobbing broke the silence of the room.

Despite the risk that the creature could come back, it would be some time before Waits left the room. Unable to properly bury the bodies, he decided to stay and mourn. He forced himself to stand. He had been to so many funerals for other Marshals that he knew the rituals by heart, yet he couldn't perform any aside from standing quietly and holding a salute.

It felt wrong to leave the bodies, but he didn't feel like he had a choice. He knew exactly where they died, even though he had no clue where the creature had taken Turner. When help arrived, he wasn't leaving without the corpses. He couldn't prevent them from dying, but at least he could make sure they were brought back to their families and put to rest properly.

* * *

Returning to the Bureau alone seemed to be somewhat of a common thing, now. First, he came back without Sterling. Now, he was coming back without Harris and Turner and Garcia. All he had left was Ricardo.

There was Ricardo and there was also a small group of civilians who still had faith in Waits taking shelter in parts of the Bureau. More civilians were turning up every day, and Waits wanted to make sure everyone had what they needed to survive. Some were showing up with injuries, and he only knew basic first aid. That could only do so much, and he could only hope that he could get Morley and Lingard in the Bureau with him soon.

He was always worried about Lingard. He had nightmares about something happening to her. The more he saw of what the creature could do, the more he worried. There was nothing more he wanted than to hold Lingard and tell her everything was going to be OK. He was going to fight hard for her. He couldn't lose her.

A day after losing the bulk of his forces, Waits struggled with coming up with a new plan. He still had some of Sterling's charges, but he wasn't sure what to do with them. Obviously, they had to be used, but where to set them? He couldn't decide. After all, until they found someone else who knew how to build bombs, they couldn't waste these.

Something flashed on his computer. For a moment, Waits wondered if it was a message from Esmeralda, or perhaps rescue. Had long-range comms restored on their own?

They hadn't. The message was from Lingard.

"_Waits, I need help. Sinclair's men took all the IV drip bags after the shootout. The patients . . . Either Sinclair or that creature killed them. All of them. We can't stay here anymore. I ran out of ammunition trying to protect the patients. I'm an awful shot, Waits, I'm sorry. Morley and I have to leave. Please, come help._"

Waits had known this message would come. He hoped it wouldn't, but somehow he knew it would.

Without a second thought, Waits sent a reply.

"_Lingard, hold tight. Don't move unless you have to. I'll be right there, sweetheart._"

* * *

Waits slung a freshly loaded shotgun over his shoulder before checking his revolver. He hadn't reloaded it since coming back from the fight with Sinclair and his men. One bullet was missing. The bullet he used to kill the guard he pinned to the floor. Waits slid another bullet into the cylinder, then pushed the cylinder closed, sighing. He was prepared to tear through anyone who got in the way of rescuing Lingard. Rage had overtaken his depression, and he could feel a fire growing hotter and hotter in the center of his empty stomach.

He left the Bureau while still putting his equipment together. He knew he'd feel better with Lingard here. She would be safe. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He couldn't. If anything happened, he would never be able to forgive himself. Not for the rest of his life.

Standing in the elevator, Waits adjusted the knobs on the motion tracker. The same tracker Sterling had carried. He tried not to think too hard about Sterling, but that was impossible given how fresh the younger man's death was in his mind.

His fight against the creature became more personal as he thought about it. He loathed the thing, and he loathed Marlow as well. Marlow _knew_ something had happened when that spider-like creature had broke through his wife's helmet to latch itself to her face. He knew and he didn't say a word when he contacted Sevastopol.

Waits felt sick thinking about it. He felt sick knowing Sinclair had let these people through.

Leaving the elevator, Waits's ears pricked when he heard the uncomfortably familiar hiss of the creature nearby. _OK, at least it's not in San Cristobal. I have to beat it to San Cristobal. I can't let it follow me to San Cristobal. _Waits wouldn't deny the creature had some level of intelligence. It somehow evaded the traps he set, but Waits wasn't sure if that was intelligence or dumb luck.

He didn't care, but he knew he needed to outsmart the creature.

His blood froze when he approached the transit car, seeing the alien's tail moving inside. Waits spotted a mangled corpse lying half on the benches and half on the floor of the car. Some poor soul had gotten trapped in there with that thing.

The creature turned to look at Waits through the window. He wondered if it was capable of recognizing him, but he didn't wonder for much longer. He needed to trap it somewhere.

The mall would've been an easy spot were it not for the people now camped in there. He glanced down the line of cars behind the one the corpse was in. Each car was connected to each other with cables and emergency exit doors. Waits looked back at the creature, and whistled at it like he would a dog. "Hey, there, motherfucker. Come on . . . I'm right here . . ." He began walking toward one of the cars toward the end of the train.

Hissing, the creature actually began following him. Waits had his shotgun ready, in case the alien lunged at him. He occasionally glanced at the doors of the cars, but kept his eyes mostly locked on the creature. He was amazed it hadn't lunged already. It seemed curious, but was also wary of the weapon in Waits's hands.

A part of Waits wanted to shoot now, but he was afraid of missing, or the creature's blood damaging the transit. He restrained himself, though it took what little physical strength he had left.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Human movement. He glanced to see some of the survivors from the mall, and so did the creature. He opened his mouth to tell them to run and hide, but a shot rang out above his head. They were shooting at him.

_Shit!_ Waits ducked into one of the transit cars. The alien shrieked and dashed toward the survivors. "Oh, no . . ." he moaned. "God, no." He could hear screams of pain, but before he could try to help, the doors of the transit car shut, and the car lurched forward, toward San Cristobal.

* * *

Sitting on a bench and gripping a railing, Waits cursed himself for not being able to help the other survivors. They shot at him, sure, but they didn't deserve to be slaughtered like that by the creature. He still felt like they were under his protection, and he failed to protect them. Like he had Lissa, Sterling, Harris, Garcia, and Turner.

Waits wanted to dismiss this all as a bad day, but it wasn't just a bad day. It was more than that. It was so much worse.

He heard a horrific screeching sound, and felt the train begin to lurch. The sound ripped through his brain like the creature's claws, and he nearly fell on his knees, covering his ears.

The train stopped hard, knocking Waits off-balance. He grabbed the railing on the side of a bench, and forced himself upright.

The lights in the car dimmed. Waits blinked, feeling his eyes start adjusting to the darkness. _The transit stopped . . . are we at SciMed?_

Looking out the windows, all he saw was pitch-black. No signs. No light. Nothing.

Waits suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He was shaking, and a cold bead of sweat ran down the side of his head. _Jesus . . . God, I'm stuck in the tunnel!_

The talons of anxiety gripped him as he made his way down to the last car pointed toward SciMed. He was nauseated, but had nothing to throw up. The nausea was so intense, it was difficult to stand. Waits took a deep breath, and grabbed the door handle to get himself out of the train altogether. He wasn't sure how far he had to walk, but he could tell from the sheer darkness that he was nowhere near the end of the tunnel.

A thought surfaced. The transit outage could only be temporary. It could start back up while Waits was walking, and run him over. Then again, what if it wasn't temporary? Swallowing, Waits decided he would take that risk.

He took his flashlight from his belt. The light offered some comfort, but it wasn't enough to split the darkness all the way to the end of the tunnel. He could see there was more darkness ahead, like a black curtain.

He doubted the creature had gotten in here. It had been too busy with that group of survivors to notice Waits disappeared. Plus, there was no way it was smart enough to figure out how to use the transit system. Was it? Waits didn't want to think about it.

Waits's shivering gradually changed from that of anxiety to genuine cold as he headed down the tunnel. He adjusted his jacket, pulling the collar up to shield the back of his neck from the icy draft. His muscles tensed, but he kept walking, keeping his blood moving.

He tried thinking of Lingard. She was always cold at night. Whenever he sensed her start to shiver, he would pull her closer, hugging her. "Better?" he'd whisper.

She nodded.

"OK." Waits adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to Lingard's cheek. No further words were said. He was glad she was safe, and warm, and comfortable.

He sighed, thinking about her, thinking about all the nights they cuddled together, thinking about all their talks together. Everything they experienced together. Everything they wanted to experience when they finally left Sevastopol. Marriage.

He let his mind wander as he kept walking. Thinking about Lingard kept him calm. He remained focused on those thoughts. A gentle warmth spread around him, and he swallowed past his nerves and nausea. _Lingard needs you. You need to keep going. You can't quit now._

He wasn't thinking about anything else. Just the drive to make sure she was safe.

* * *

_Question: How might the events of Isolation play out differently if Sterling had survived and remained Waits's deputy?_


	25. Chapter 25

_2137_

Relief washed over Waits when his mind was flooded with pleasant memories of him and Lingard. He couldn't count how many times he visited her office over the last two years, especially since he had done so several times a day. Even before they admitted to liking each other.

They spent long hours doing nothing in her office, sometimes just sitting and gazing dreamily at each other-until Lingard reached over to yank on Waits's cap. They grinned at each other, then began leaning closer to each other over the desk. Waits's heart fluttered, and he knew that meant they were leaning in to kiss.

When it came to love, things that most would consider simple and mundane became the most powerful of memories.

Waits remained focused on every memory. Every kiss. Every cuddle. It felt like all he had. It was his source of motivation, despite everything that had gone wrong over the last several weeks. He had to keep going. For Lingard.

Something suddenly tugged at his mind, pulling him out of his happy memories. A sound. Something creaking. He paused, letting himself return to reality, and glanced around, shining his flashlight toward the ceiling and the walls of the tunnel. His heart pounded faster and faster. There were several ports leading to the vents and maintenance tunnels all over the walls. Had that thing gotten in here?

The creaking gradually turned into a screech. The entire tunnel began shaking, slightly at first, then so hard that Waits could feel it in his core. Then he saw his shadow suddenly elongate in front of him as a light turned on from behind.

Waits looked over his shoulder, and his blood froze. Somehow, the transit had started back up again, and it was rushing toward him. He had seconds, heartbeats, to act.

Jumping clumsily over the rails, Waits threw himself against the door to a maintenance shaft. "Come on, come on!" he breathed. He swore when the door handle refused to budge. "Shit! Dammit!"

He couldn't bring himself to look at the train. He knew that would shorten the amount of time he had before the speeding transit turned him into a red smear on the wall.

_The wall . . ._ Waits glanced at a vent by the door. Without thinking, he crouched in front of it, watching the cover slide open, and shoved himself in, just as the train rushed by. Silence fell over him, and the shaking subsided, but his heart still pounded on. It was the only sound he could hear now.

The cover closed behind him, and he lay flat on his belly, in shock at how close to death he had just been. Once he regained his breath, he crawled forward, eventually finding a cover leading out to the maintenance tunnel. The tunnel was just as dark as the one he just escaped. It was narrower. Waits had never been terribly claustrophobic in the past, but he was beginning to think his nerves were slowly shattering, and they just couldn't take being so stressed all the time like this.

He was finding it harder and harder to breathe. The walls seemed like they were starting to close in on him. _Which way do I go? Which way do I fucking go?!_ He glanced around frantically, until spotting a sign on the wall with his flashlight. One arrow pointed back toward the habitation towers. The other toward SciMed. He breathed a little more easy, following the arrow he knew would lead him to Lingard.

* * *

It was difficult for Waits to go back to thinking about those pleasant memories. He was still rattled, and he was becoming aware of how much he had been neglecting himself over the last several weeks. He hadn't slept much; just napped at his desk at random hours. He knew cryo wouldn't replenish the sleep he lost, but it sure would feel good to just do nothing for three weeks.

Then again, he knew his sleep would be plagued with nightmares. About this. About the creature. About Sterling and Lissa. About sheer darkness and powerlessness and hopelessness. Post-cryo sickness would be a joy after that, but at least he would be able to recover with Lingard. At least he would be starting a new chapter in his life, and he could leave this behind.

It was that moment when he realized just how tired he was, and it made him want to cry. He didn't stop walking, but he shivered with cold and intense emotion as tears began running down his face. He prayed that when he got to Gateway, he would be able to sleep. Sleep, drink, and eat. Replenish his physical and mental strength.

Since survivors began sheltering in the Bureau, Waits made sure they all had food, refusing to take any for himself. With more people coming in, any scraps left for him became smaller. He dealt with it, even when hunger started to hurt. There were times where it kept him from sleeping, though tiredness fought hard to make him put his head down. When he wasn't stressed, he would feel claws digging in and slowly raking across the inside of his stomach. Sometimes the pain in his belly translated over to his nightmares involving that damn worm.

He remembered Lissa had woken him one night after hearing him moaning and seeing his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach. "Marshal?" she whispered, gently shaking him. "Marshal Waits? Are you sick?"

She would give him part of her rations when he told her he wasn't sick, just hungry. He argued, and caved when she told him he needed his strength. She had no reason to be so kind, did she? Perhaps it was her way of thanking him for trying to do something when her husband went missing. That seemed like the only explanation.

He wished he had thanked her. He wished he had thanked her for standing by him when most of the civilian populace had turned their backs on him.

He could whisper and think his thanks all he wanted, but he knew it just wasn't the same as saying to her in person.

That reminded him of how he really hadn't told Lingard he loved her. He knew his actions had said it, but it wasn't the same as looking her in the eye, holding her hand, and saying that he loved her. _I probably focused too much on it being that perfect moment. First it was that dinner on Valentine's Day, then it was that moment in the mall, and just . . . there were so many more moments where I wanted to say it. _Waits sighed. _I should've said it when I knew it in my heart I loved her._

He would tell Lingard when he saw her. No holding back. He was telling her.

Despite the pain in his chest from disappointment and grief, it still couldn't contain all the love he felt for her. It was hard to express, because he had never felt it so strongly before. Every hug, kiss, cuddle, and laugh conveyed their love for each other. Every time they held hands, no matter who initiated it. Waits's grip was strong, protective. Lingard's was gentle, comforting.

Despite having _shown_ her that he loved her, Waits's heart ached to tell her those three little words.

* * *

Waits wasn't sure how much time had passed since he fled the oncoming train. He imagined it had been more than hour. Then again, maybe only a few minutes had passed. At least he was still following the signs to SciMed.

He heard something moving. It sounded like claws on metal. Waits didn't want to look for the source. He had to keep going.

Behind him, something crawled down from a vent shaft, hissing and snarling. Waits quickened his gait. _I can't be trapped in here with that thing!_

Frantically, Waits looked for an escape. He spotted a door to a smaller tunnel that led to Sevastopol's Engineering Deck. Locating the way to SciMed would be tough once he reached the Deck, but it was better than being easy prey. Waits released his breath when the door opened with no resistance. He slammed the door shut, trying to find a lock. The alien screeched as it charged toward where it had last sensed Waits. He forced the lock in place just as the creature ran and struck the door with a heavy _bang_, and then he released his breath again. That would hold it for a little while.

He turned to jog down the much narrower tunnel. The rush of adrenaline yanked him out of his tiredness and made him forget his hunger. He kept glancing over his shoulder, afraid that creature had somehow gotten in. When he saw it hadn't, he tried to regain his breath.

The Engineering Deck was usually active with workers and androids. Now, it was nearly devoid of both-almost.

"You really shouldn't be here." A Working Joe strolled over to Waits from the shadows, its casual tone eerie in this situation.

"Son-of-a-bitch." Waits had nearly jumped from his skin. He backed away before unslinging his shotgun, pumping a shell into the android's head before it could get closer. White fluid stood out on the floor when the body toppled over.

A chill shot down his spine when he heard a human voice say, "What was that?"

"What was what?" another voice replied.

"Sounded like a gunshot."

"Probably Diaz finally taking out that damn Joe that keeps pacing near the tunnels. He should be back by now with supplies."

Waits could see two men standing in a makeshift camp, illuminated by a portable lamp in the middle. One was walking around, the other was sitting on a sleeping bag. The one pacing was wearing a sweat-stained T-shirt bearing a medic's symbol on his left shoulder. The one sitting was wearing patches that read "Sevastopol Science & Medical Center" on both shoulders.

"That sounded close. If that was Diaz, he'd be here by now," the sitting man said.

The pacing one paused, then nodded. He checked the rounds in his revolver, and walked toward Waits's direction. Anxiously, Waits ducked under a computer desk, hiding under a drawer and a tangle of wires. He turned off his flashlight, and held his breath.

The pacing man scanned the room, and called back to his companion. "I ain't denying you heard something, Raine. Look-someone shot that Joe."

The sitting man, Raine, got up to see what his friend saw. "Holy cow. Should we thank 'em?"

"We don't even know who it is, yet. It's every group for themselves, remember?"

"I do remember that, Jav, but I also remember Marshal Waits telling us we can't just fall apart like this. We can't just-"

"Keep your voice down. Sinclair's guys are everywhere, and they hate Waits with a burning fucking passion. Anyone who's heard supporting him will get shot. You wanna go join Waits in the Bureau? Good luck. You won't survive out there on your own. Not with the Joes, or Seegson Security, or that fucking creature."

_How long has it been since someone cleaned under here?_ Waits was finding the dust under the desk unbearable. He clamped his hands over his nose and mouth, trying not to sneeze. The sneeze came out anyway, and both Jav and Raine pointed their revolvers at the desk.

"Alright, come on outta there, buddy," Jav said. "We know you're under there."

Somewhat reluctantly, Waits emerged, his hands where the two men could see them. "Don't shoot, OK?" he replied.

"Speak of the devil," Raine whispered, lowering his gun. "What the hell are you doing all the way down here, Marshal?"

"I'm headed to SciMed. Oh, and you're welcome, by the way." Waits gestured to the corpse of the android.

"Why're you headed to SciMed?" Jav asked, his weapon still trained on Waits.

"We have enough supplies," Raine said, positioning himself to get between Jav and Waits. "Don't-"

"I'm not going for supplies," Waits interrupted. He wasn't sure he should tell them why. How could he trust them?

"Let him go, Jav. Please." Raine gave Jav a hard look. "He's not here to hurt us."

Sighing, Jav lowered his revolver. "Telling you, Raine, you're too fucking soft. It's a miracle you're still alive. I'm going to go look for Diaz." He turned to head down a darkened corridor, along the tunnel leading to the habitation towers.

"I wouldn't go that way alone if I were you," Waits said. "I had to run from the creature back that way."

"Fuck!" Jav angrily whirled around to face Waits. "Are you saying you led that thing here?!"

"No. I wasn't intending to come down here at all. Something's wrong with the transit-"

"It's been randomly stopping and starting all over the station," Raine said.

"Yeah. I almost got run over. Look, I have my own reasons for going up to San Cristobal. If you two want to stay here, that's fine by me, but you're more than welcome to come with me and shelter in the Bureau." Waits glanced over their shoulder patches. "You're both medical, and we need people with medical expertise in my shelter. I only know basic first aid."

Raine looked at Jav. "That'd be better than staying here."

"Who else is in your group?" Waits asked.

"There were . . . five of us. One was dragged in the vents by that monster. Another was shot by one of Sinclair's men. Diaz went out to find batteries for our lamp here. He's been gone over an hour."

"Then he's either lost or dead," Waits said.

"I refuse to believe he's dead!" Jav snarled. "He can't be dead!"

Waits gave Jav a sympathetic look. "Son, it's definitely a possibility." He let out a quiet sigh. _Lingard needs me, but I can't just abandon these guys, or their companion . . . if he's still alive. _"Did you friend say where he was going to look?"

"There's a storage unit down the corridor," Raine explained, "The corridor's blocked by some debris from an explosion-"

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"So Diaz said he was going to down a separate hall to go around. We knew it'd be a long way, but . . . not this long. He could be hurt and hasn't been able to contact us."

"Alright. We'll go look, but neither of you are going off on your own." Waits glanced at Jav.

Jav nodded a little. He made eye contact with Waits. "Do you know what exactly that creature is?"

Waits shook his head. "No. All I know is that it's big and it's dangerous. I think that's all anyone knows at this point." He was quiet for a moment. Jav looked apprehensive, while Raine seemed to be regarding Waits as being in charge. "Alright, what're you two thinking?"

"I think we'd have a better chance of getting off Sevastopol if we go with Waits," Raine said, looking at Jav.

"And why do you say that?" Jav asked.

"Whoever comes to rescue us will be in contact with him. We won't get left behind."

Waits felt a hard twist in his stomach, wondering if these two knew that long-range communication was down. He wasn't sure he should tell them. After all, rescue was coming, wasn't it? He kept his mouth shut.

"We're finding Diaz first," Jav said. "Then we'll go with the Marshals."

"OK." Raine looked back at Waits, as if to make sure he approved.

"If you want to come along, I won't stop you," Waits replied, shrugging. "Like I said earlier, I'm going to San Cristobal-"

"Why are you going to San Cristobal anyway?" Jav asked.

"To rescue the doctors. Sinclair's men have been killing patients, and Morley and Lingard ran out of ammunition."

"We've got ammunition," Raine said, gesturing to his revolver. "We gave Diaz the shotgun."

"OK. Hopefully, we'll find him, and we'll have some extra firepower on our hands."

Raine led them down where he had last seen Diaz. The corridors were dark, and all three men were aiming their weapons at wherever they heard a sound.

It didn't take very long for them to find evidence of what might have happened to Diaz. Below a vent in the ceiling were puddles of blood and a clear substance. A shotgun lay nearby.

"No . . ." Jav breathed. "Son-of-a- . . . I . . . He . . ." He turned to face Raine and Waits, eyes wild with shock.

"Take a deep breath, son," Waits said. He could feel their grief. He knew it all too well. His heart began aching as he thought of Sterling and Lissa.

"Marshal, you better have a damn good plan to kill that thing," Jav growled.

"We're working on it. You can grieve in my office. I don't think standing around here will do us much good."

* * *

After gathering up their supplies, the group headed in the direction of SciMed Tower. They were close and Waits could feel it. He just wanted to see Lingard again, and make sure she was safe. He didn't say that to either Jav or Raine.

Raine jogged up to the elevator, and pressed the call button. He waited patiently, but when he heard a loud crashing sound, his face paled.

"Well, that's not good," Waits muttered.

The doors opened, revealing an empty shaft, and the elevator itself sitting below them, stuck.

"I'm not staying here," Jav said. "I'm climbing up."

"That's a long way up," Raine replied, quietly.

"I don't care! I'd rather take that risk than stay here and be slaughtered by God-knows-what!" Jav slunk into the shaft, grabbing whatever he could to hang onto the wall and get to the ladder.

"You next, Marshal." Raine gestured to Waits.

Not saying a word, Waits cautiously stepped into the shaft, finding a narrow ledge. There wasn't much in terms of handholds, and he tried to move as slow as possible. _Don't look down, Jethro, don't look down . . ._

Raine joined them when he had room. "You doing alright, sir?"

"Oh, I'm doing absolutely fucking amazing," Waits groaned.

"Just breathe evenly. Take your time."

Jav had made it to the ladder. As Waits inched his way closer, Jav held out his hand. "Easy does it, Marshal . . . Alright, grab on, and pull yourself over."

Waits moved faster once he took Jav's hand. When he could grab a rung of the ladder, Jav let go, and started climbing. Waits paused, holding the ladder with one hand, and extending the other to Raine.

"Thanks." Raine released his breath when he gripped the ladder.

As they ascended the dark shaft, the only sounds they could hear was each other's breathing. It was Jav who broke the silence. "How many floors do we have until we reach San Cristobal?"

"Five, I think," Raine replied. "If the doors aren't shut at the next stop, we could find another route."

"I just hope Sinclair's men aren't camped there," Waits muttered.

The doors to the next floor were open, and the three climbed out. Waits could see signs for transit, and directions up to San Cristobal and Seegson Synthetics. "We want the hospital," he said. "There's probably a stairway somewhere. Has to be."

"This way." Raine started jogging forward.

The sound of their boots on the floor echoed through the empty hall. Then they halted abruptly when they heard a heavy _thud_ somewhere up the stairs, followed by a snarl.

"Dammit, _hide!_" Raine hissed.

They scrambled to find somewhere to hide as the alien began marching down the stairs, eventually closing themselves in lockers and closets in an office overlooking the transit platform. Waits peered through the slits in locker to see the creature scanning its surroundings outside the office. His heart pounded faster when it drew closer to the doorway.

It stuck its long head into the office. Waits moved as far back into the locker as he could, holding his breath and sucking in his gut. The creature looked around, and Waits froze altogether. He tried not to breathe, or twitch, but he could feel blood pulsating through his body. He prayed the slight movements went unnoticed. He prayed Raine and Jav weren't moving as well.

The creature was only in the room for a few minutes, but it felt like a few hours. Hissing to itself, it turned and left, its long, heavy tail lashing behind it. Once it was gone, Waits breathed.

They waited another minute before quietly emerging from the lockers. Raine and Jav were pale. "Where did it go?" Raine whispered, breathlessly.

"I don't know," Waits replied. "Let's go before it makes another round."

They dashed up the stairs, not stopping until they came to a sign pointing to San Cristobal. Waits's heart was in his throat. He had an overwhelming urge to run. Run until he found Lingard. Run and lift her up and hold her and tell her how much he loved her. He was so overwhelmed with anticipation that he nearly burst into tears.

* * *

_Question: How is Waits's attitude to other survivors different or similar to Amanda Ripley's?_


	26. Chapter 26

_2137_

The scene outside San Cristobal was one Waits never wanted to see again. Empty hospital beds and wheelchairs, some turned over, and some covered with blood. Some had corpses in them. It turned his stomach in a way he had never felt before.

Where was Morley? He was usually out here. Maybe he was inside, sheltered with Lingard, waiting. Hoping that was the case, Waits tried to look away from the dead bodies and blood and horror. He didn't want to imagine what exactly had happened when Sinclair and his goons raided the place.

Jav and Raine were silent, equally horrified. "What . . . happened?" Raine whispered.

"Sinclair," Waits replied. "Lingard told me he and his thugs came here to steal meds from the patients here."

"Doesn't surprise me," Jav said. He was quiet for another moment. "We used to be in his group."

"Five of us fled, claiming we were going to get supplies. We couldn't stay with them if they weren't going to cooperate with the Marshals," Raine added. "If rescue comes, how would we find out?"

"That, and we were nearly punished for trying to help someone not in Sinclair's group." Jav gestured to Raine. "Well, _he_ was the one doing the helping. I guess the only reason they let us live as long as we did was because we've both got medical training."

"How the fuck you managed to desert him without getting shot, I'll never know," Waits said.

"Luck, I guess."

Waits entered the hospital to find it was at its most dark and quiet. He was tempted to call out for Lingard, but was afraid that would attract some unwanted attention. So he headed right for her office, Jav and Raine behind him. He glanced back at them. "You two go find Doctor Morley."

"You yourself no one should be going alone," Raine whispered.

"I'm ordering you two to go find him. Just do as I say."

Without another word, the two headed down another hallway. Part of Waits regretted making that order, but something was telling him needed to be by himself when he found Lingard.

His heart sank when he entered her office to find no one. _Where could she possibly be? _He looked in her locker and under her desk, again finding nothing. "Honey?" he said. Panic swelled in his chest.

Leaving her office, Waits found himself taking in short, quick breaths. He wouldn't calm down until he found her. Panic gripped his body like a vice-

"Waits!" Raine called.

Whirling around, Waits spotted the younger man standing at the end of a hallway. "What?"

"We . . . found Morley."

Following Raine down the hall, Waits saw Jav standing outside a room, face pale. "Oh, no . . ." Waits breathed. He stood next to Jav, finally seeing what was making the latter so pale.

Morley was lying on his back, part of his intestines spilling from a deep wound on the left side of his belly. Yet, that wasn't the worst part. Waits's eyes moved up to Morley's head, and he nearly fell to his knees at seeing the doctor's face had been completely torn away. "Morley, no." Waits choked. "Jesus, no . . ." Tears rolled down his face. "This . . . This isn't happening."

Raine touched Waits's shoulder. His grip tightened when Waits sank to the floor, shivering and sobbing.

"There's no way that's Morley," Waits stammered. "No . . ."

But it was. He recognized the uniform, the hair, everything that was left. Waits squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at Morley's desecrated corpse anymore. That wasn't the Morley he wanted in his memory. Morley had been so full of life, upbeat. He was sweet to everyone. Just a joy to be around, even if he was a little quirky at times. He had been a friend. Close enough to where Waits wanted to trust him to be his best man at his wedding.

"I never told you how much I appreciated you, did I?" Waits moaned, face hot and wet with tears streaming down. "You did so much and asked for nothing in return. Goddammit, buddy, this isn't how you should've left this world."

He sat for a few long minutes, Raine's arm around his shoulder, holding him reassuringly.

"We should go," Raine said, softly. "We can still find Lingard."

Waits needed help standing. He didn't want to leave Morley's body, but knew there was no way they could transport it back to the Bureau without a body bag. Grief and sorrow tore at Waits's heart and soul when he walked away. He tried to refocus, tried to stay hopeful for Lingard.

They searched every open room they came across, not seeing any sign of Lingard. As he started to lose hope, he heard two screams, one human, one not.

"_Lingard!" _Waits shouted. He rounded a corner to see the creature on top of a desk, towering over Lingard. Suddenly, he could only hear his own heartbeat when he saw the creature's pierced through Lingard's torso. He opened his mouth to scream. He knew sound was coming out, but he couldn't hear it. He could feel something tearing through his chest, like he was feeling Lingard's pain with her . . .

Next to him, Raine was lighting a Molotov cocktail. Rage boiling in his stomach, Waits grabbed the bottle from Raine, hurling it at the alien. The fireball exploded near the creature. Screeching, it withdrew its tail from Lingard, and dashed off.

Waits collapsed next to her, holding her in his arms despite the blood. God, there was so much blood . . . "Honey?" Waits breathed. "Stay with me, OK?" He kissed her forehead.

"I can't . . ." Lingard said. "Waits-"

"No. You're gonna make it. I'm not gonna let you die."

Lingard swallowed. Her breath was uneven, and blood was running from the sides of her mouth. "Jethro. Sweetie. There's . . . nothing you can do. I'm sorry."

"No, please." Waits pressed her forehead against his. "I love you." He took a breath, kissing her again. "I love you. I shoulda told you a long time ago. Dammit, I'm such a moron."

Lingard managed a smile. "No, sweetie, you're not. I love you, too."

"I don't want to leave you. I can't," Waits sobbed. "We were gonna . . . W-We were gonna get married. I-I'm never gonna find . . . someone else." He hugged her tighter. "Please, don't give up."

"Can you listen to me for a minute? I don't want _you _giving up." Lingard's eyes filled with tears.

Seeing her cry just made more tears come for him. "There are so many 'I love yous' that I never said. You . . . I-I never thought I'd . . . find someone who was able to put up with my shit, a-and love me in the process. Just . . . somehow, I knew when you kissed me, two years ago, after I brought you to your apartment. Remember?"

She nodded. "I'll always remember that. I dreamt about it. I . . . even dreamt about you making the same gesture. That was when I knew. And even though you didn't say it, I knew you loved me. You're not perfect, but I wouldn't trade you for perfect."

That brought a small and weak smile to Waits's face.

"Getting to wake up next to you every morning was the best feeling in the world. If . . . If I'm going to go to sleep now, I'd rather have it be with you."

"Honey, you're not . . . you're not gonna wake up, though."

"I know." Lingard took Waits's hand. "Just stay. That's all I ask. Jethro."

"Why're you calling me by my first name?"

"Weren't we going to do that when we got to Gateway?"

"Well, yeah, but . . . I . . ." Waits paused, and then gave up. "Kalea. I told you it was such a pretty name. Wish I started using it sooner, earlier."

She kept smiling at him. It pained Waits to see she was starting to lose strength, then she reached up to pull the brim of his cap. "You know, that became my way of silently telling you that I love you?"

"I did know. Somehow." Waits took Lingard's hand, holding it as tight as he could. "I . . . H-How am I gonna wake up every morning without you? I can't go find someone else. That'd be like cheating."

"Jethro, when you leave Sevastopol, all I want is for you to be happy. If you meet another woman who makes you happy, and if you make her happy, then you have my blessing to be with her and love her. You have so much love to give."

"OK. If . . . If that's what you want, honey." Waits tried to swallow past more tears. Lingard's breath was becoming shallow, and her heartbeat was becoming weak. "I'm not ready."

She squeezed his hand, trying to smile. "I'm seeing the mean son-of-a-bitch at his most sensitive."

"Yes. Yes, you are." Waits kissed her forehead. "I love you." He took a deep breath. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

Waits held her close, still holding her hand and nuzzling her forehead. His whole body was aching. His heart was breaking. It was such a slow, painful break. "Kalea?" he whispered. "I . . . H-How am I gonna move on?"

He got no answer. Her eyes were closed, and her grip on his hand had relaxed. Waits couldn't doubt that she was gone. He was flooded with sadness. His chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible force. The break in his heart deepened and expanded until it split in half. Touching her forehead with his again, he breathed, "I love you."

* * *

The transit ride back to the habitation towers was silent, aside from Waits's sobbing. He couldn't bottle up his emotions anymore. Jav and Raine sat across from him, not saying a word. They glanced at each other occasionally, looking worried, unsure of how to help Waits. Then again, they were all grieving someone. Jav and Raine were still in shock over Diaz and the other members of their former group. And Waits . . .

Lissa. Sterling. Morley. Now Lingard.

The people closest to him. Gone. He couldn't believe it.

He felt like he just came out of a boxing ring after letting his opponent beat on him. His body felt bruised and spent. He knew his heart was bruised. And broken. Broken into so many pieces. He was staring at the pieces, not knowing how to put them back together. The edges were jagged and splintered. Some were big, some were small. He couldn't remember where they were originally.

Waits felt a surge of pain from deep within his chest when his thoughts turned to Lingard. He looked down at the floor, vision blurring with tears. Memories flashed across his mind, starting with their meeting in the hallway outside their apartments. Neither of them expected to be seeing each other again. And again. And again. Of all the things they could have bonded over, it was their loneliness and feelings that no one else understood their dedication to their jobs. The more time they spent with each other, the more they realized how much they liked each other.

Waits tried reliving the night they confessed that they had feelings for each other. It was an ungodly hour. Neither of them could sleep because of all that was on their mind. When they both confessed, it was the happiest Waits had been in his life. That happiness should have been present when he held his newborn nephew, but it wasn't. It had been sucked away by the fights he had with his brother-in-law. There was none of that while he was with Lingard. She recognized his flaws, sure, but didn't put him down over it. Hell, she liked his brutal honesty, having been lied to and deceived for most of her life.

He couldn't believe he wasn't going to have anymore tender little moments with her. She was the piece of his heart he couldn't find, and that he wasn't getting back. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn't. That hurt, and he never imagined it would hurt so much.

Although he had taken Lingard's ID tags with her picture, Waits couldn't bear to look at it at the moment. His mind and heart weren't ready, because he knew that if he looked, he would start to cry. He felt like telling someone he missed her wouldn't convey how much pain he was in. It never would. Crying perhaps would convey it. He thought back to when he was coping with trauma from his experience on LV-112, how he couldn't bring himself to cry in front of anyone, how he didn't want to tell anyone what was going on in his mind, how he wanted so badly to cry out for help.

He was crying now, he realized.

The transit ride was surprisingly smooth. There were no sudden stops. Just luck, Waits guessed. It stopped at the habitation towers, and Jav and Raine stood up first. Raine looked at Waits, and said, "Would you like a hand?"

"I can get up myself," Waits muttered. "I'm not that old."

Raine didn't respond, but he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Waits was still with them as they headed to the elevator.

In the elevator, no words were spoken, much like the transit ride. Waits was in the corner, remembering how Lingard would lean against him whenever he took her back to her apartment. She would almost always fall asleep, and he told her not to lean on him because it made him sleepy, too. Eventually, there was a point where Waits didn't mind if she leaned on him, because he would hug her and keep her warm and close as they rode up to the apartments. Sometimes, Waits dozed off, and the _ping _of the elevator arriving on their floor would wake them both up. That was typically when they would decide to just pick his or her apartment and go to sleep.

He was pulled from his memories when the elevator doors opened, and the three walked out toward the Bureau. Waits wasn't sure how to present himself to his remaining Marshals, and the survivors now living there. Part of him felt like a failure.

Waits entered the Bureau, every part of his body feeling heavy. His grief was written all over his face. Sighing, he gestured for Jav and Raine to join the other survivors, then walked into his office, not saying a word to anyone.

* * *

There were things to do, but Waits didn't feel motivated to do anything. They were important things to do, but something heavy in his brain was keeping him from doing them. He felt lost, alone, and immensely tired.

_Everyone out in the main room has lost friends and loved ones. Why should you sit around and mope while they can't? _Waits felt his throat close. _I don't know how much pain they're in. They could just be keeping it all in, while I can't keep it in anymore._

He let out his breath, more tears streaming down his face. He had never cried so much before. _I never loved so hard before . . ._

Lingard had told him not to give up. If that was what she wanted, he had to follow through. _I won't give up, but I need to get over the pain of losing you, honey._

How long would the pain last, though? How long would the wound in his heart bleed?

Every wound stopped bleeding eventually, but Waits didn't know how long he could afford to sit around and wait for it to stop. Probably not very long, but he knew trying to force himself to work when he wasn't ready would provide crappy results.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since returning to the Bureau, but it was long enough for people to get worried. Raine knocked on the door. "Marshal? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Sighing, Waits replied, "Sure. Come in."

Raine entered the room, closing the door behind him. "A few of the other survivors were wondering . . . what's next. I volunteered to talk to you."

"I don't have any plans right now. I think that much is obvious."

"I-I know, but . . ." Raine sat down. "I figured it was best someone _listens _to you. You lost someone you love, and that's not an easy thing to get over."

Waits fell silent, another urge to cry swelling inside him. "I have to get over it. You guys can sit and grieve all you want, but I'm charge of you all, and I can't. I still have a job to do, but I don't feel like I can perform at my best right now."

"That's understandable."

Waits glanced over at Raine, unsure of what to say. He adjusted his posture. "You guys are all counting on me out there?"

Raine nodded.

"Well, this fight with the creature got more personal than I ever wanted it to be." Waits sighed. "It's not going to get itself killed if I just sit here." He paused, rubbing his face and thinking. "I want everyone who's healthy to start making foraging parties. At least two per group, and search for whatever you can. No one is to be unarmed. Everyone in your party will have a revolver, and at least one of you will have a shotgun."

He sounded tired and empty, like he didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. He gave his orders, now he wanted to be left alone. How such a simple action became so draining, he would never know.

Raine didn't leave, though. He stayed, looking down at the table before returning his gaze to Waits. He looked defeated.

"I hardly know you," Waits said. "I hardly know anyone now." He turned to face the wall. "Go tell everyone my instructions. I need to be alone."

* * *

He didn't emerge for quite some time. The foraging parties had all been formed and left the Bureau when Waits finally stepped out. At some point, he had fallen asleep, completely overwhelmed by exhaustion. The rest of the space was empty aside from four survivors and a couple of Marshals.

Waits sighed a little, still feeling tired. How long would he have to sleep before he felt fully rested again? A few days? Weeks, perhaps? He didn't know, and didn't care. It twisted his heart to know he would never wake up next to Lingard again. He lost count of how many nights they spent together after they decided to give it a go. They enjoyed it.

Waits's thoughts turned to the couple of nights where Lingard was sick, and he did his best to keep her comfortable, even when she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned before Waits wrapped both arms around her, holding her against him. She adjusted herself one more time, and finally slept.

Every bed from here on out was going to feel cold and empty. Waits remembered what Lingard said about her being OK with him finding someone else who made him as happy as she did. He wondered if he could ever find that kind of happiness again. It would take a special person to understand all he had gone through, and to understand he wasn't easy to love.

It would take a special person to persuade him to give them the key to his heavily fortified heart. Right now, his heart was locked up again. The key had gone with Lingard.

Despite knowing how dangerous it was, Waits decided he wasn't going to leave Sevastopol without Lingard's belongings. Her family had to know, and he wanted to keep things for memories. He left Ricardo in charge of the remaining survivors while he slung a shotgun over his shoulder, and checked his revolver.

When he stepped outside the Bureau, he was again bombarded with memories. Memories of people passing by the offices. Memories of locking up for the night. Memories of going out on patrol. Memories of preparing to go out with Lingard on a date. It all made his chest hurt. Sighing, he headed to the elevator. He would always remember the floor Lingard lived on, the number on her apartment door. Stuff like that would never fade.

The elevator doors closed in front of him, and he felt something crash inside him. He began to cry.

* * *

_Question: How is Waits's handling of grief different or similar to Hicks in "White Noise?"_


	27. Chapter 27

_2137_

Waits felt dizzy while putting in the code to Lingard's door. As Head Marshal, he had a master key to get into anyone's apartment, but it didn't feel as personal as actually _knowing_ her code. She trusted him with it. That meant something.

The apartment was dark and dusty after not having been used for a long time. There was no evidence that looters or the alien creature had been inside. Everything was exactly where Lingard had left it.

Her scent was everywhere. It was a mix of sweet and sterile. Waits had grown to like it, even breathing it in every time he hugged her and buried his nose in her soft hair.

He turned the lights on, memories crashing over him like tidal waves. This one place was a source of comfort for him. In a way, it was still comforting, but it felt incredibly empty. He let out a breath before sitting on the couch. Involuntarily, he held out his arm, half-expecting Lingard to come over and cuddle with him. When he realized that wasn't going to happen, he looked down at his lap, tears rolling down his face.

It had been a few hours since he lost her, and he had cried so much. He didn't even know his body could have produced so many tears. He really had never cried so much before. _So this is what love does to a person._

He looked around the apartment, sadness and loneliness encompassing him, despite how happy his memories were. Knowing he couldn't sit there forever, he stood, wandering over to the kitchen.

Lingard had never been much of a cook, and neither was Waits. Occasionally, she did try to cook, wanting to impress him. Then again, impressing Waits with food was never a necessity. He was just happy to eat after a long day where he may have skipped breakfast or lunch.

It was a rare occasion, but Waits would attempt to cook for Lingard. The first time he tried, everything was either burnt or undercooked. It was definitely a disaster.

"The instructions are right there on the biscuit container, and you still couldn't get it right?" Lingard asked.

"Nope." Waits opened the trash can, dumping the charred biscuits in.

"Did you walk away from the stove?"

"I did once to take a piss. But then I came right back."

"And . . ." Lingard made a face, gesturing to a pan on the stove, "what's this?"

"Um . . . it was . . . some kinda chicken bake."

"Did you just throw stuff together and expect it to work?"

"Yeah."

"One more question."

"Yes, dear?"

"Why did you have to do this in _my_ kitchen?!"

"Because I wanted to surprise you."

She couldn't fault him for that. They ended up ordering food after cleaning up the mess Waits made, and spent the rest of the evening snuggled on the couch.

Waits wandered back out to the living room. On a table next to the couch was a thick book full of photographs of Hawaii. A bookmark was on a page showing downtown Honolulu. The greens of the palms and the blue of the ocean were vibrant and warm and inviting. It seemed unreal, but it was real. It existed. It just might be awhile before Waits could see it for himself.

He figured he would take it with him. That book meant a lot to Lingard. He had seen her reading it in bed.

As he entered the bedroom, Waits felt another hard pang in his chest. He sighed as he was again choked by tears, remembering the nights they spent here. They alternated between his apartment and hers, though it never really mattered where they slept. He sat on the edge of the bed. Lingard's scent was sweetest here. She never went to bed smelling like the hospital. She claimed it was too strong and not at all calming.

Waits looked around the room. It was full of happy memories, but that was all they were now. He would never experience that happiness again.

He opened one of the drawers on Lingard's nightstand, and found a thick envelope. Written on one side was, "_Lingard, here are the photos you requested. You two are adorable together. - Morley_."

Inside the envelope were several photographs of himself and Lingard. Morley must have been carefully hidden when these were taken, because Waits didn't remember seeing him with a camera. The pictures showed simple but sweet moments. Sitting together in the food court, sitting together on a bench, just enjoying each other's company.

Sweet moments that should have brought him joy were instead bringing him pain. His vision blurred with tears, which rolled down his face as pain pulsated harder and harder in his chest. It felt like every organ in his torso would rupture, and every fluid would flow freely from them.

He was used to feeling empty, lonely, but after spending two years in love, he didn't want to go back. This emptiness and loneliness was so much more painful than before. Before, it was a constant, dull ache. Now, it was open, raw, bleeding, and painful. Unable to look at the photos anymore, Waits sobbed.

A slight vibration shook him. He glanced out the window to see a fireball erupting from a part of the station. Another trap had gone off.

He didn't understand why he didn't care. He hoped it took care of the creature, but he was wrapped up in grief, unable to do anything but cry.

He put the photos in his pocket, and kept searching for things he knew had value to Lingard. He opened another drawer to find a card. On the front of the card was an image of bird holding a flower in its beak, and the words "_Just A Note . . ._" Waits opened it to find a message from Lingard to him.

"_Jethro Waits, I know we haven't talked much, but I've been thinking a lot about you since we first met a few weeks ago. It took a lot for me to open up about what's going on here, and I expected you to just take what you learned and only approach me when you had updates. But, you saw me as a friend. I started seeing you as a friend. I even started seeing you as more than a friend, but I didn't know how to say it._

"_When I kissed you last night, that was when I really started thinking about my feelings. Then you kissed me this morning, and I became more serious about telling you how I felt, because I'm starting to think you feel the same way. You're a bit rough around the edges, but you've got a lot to offer; you're sweet, honest, and surprisingly gentle._

"_I really like you, and I want to know if you feel the same. - Kalea Lingard_."

Waits grinned a little. "I must've confessed before she had a chance to give this to me," he whispered. At least they knew they had feelings for each other. At least they knew they loved each other.

_I just wish I could've saved her._ Pain surged in Waits's chest again. _Why couldn't I save her?_

He slid the note in with the pictures, and continued going through Lingard's belongings. She had kept all the little gifts he gave her over the last two years. Every plastic flower, card, and rubber duck. They were all kept in one drawer. The pictures they had taken in a mall photo booth were in there, too. Waits could remember every moment shown. The booth was small and they were cuddled up as close as they could get. Every photo was different, but one thing stayed the same in each-they were holding hands.

Waits didn't hesitate to take them.

As he kept searching, he heard a heavy thud outside the apartment, followed by a wet hiss. "Fuck," he mouthed. _Shit, shit, shit . . . _Waits crouched by the bed, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. He continued to curse to himself.

The creature paused by the apartment door, staying perfectly still as it looked inside. Waits couldn't bring himself to look. His heart, though racked with pain from grief, was thudding hard as his body reverted to survival mode. _Go on, shoo, dammit!_ Waits wanted to hiss.

As if it could read his mind, the alien slowly turned, and headed down the hall. Waits breathed a sigh of relief. After gathering all he could carry in his pockets, he headed for the door-

The creature was standing at the end of the hall, its back turned to him. Waits resisted the urge to make a frustrated sound. If he ran to the elevator, surely that thing would hear him, turn around to chase him.

_Come on, Jethro, think!_ Waits let out an inaudible sigh. _There's a vent in the kitchen. I can use that. _As quietly as he could, Waits slunk into the kitchen, crouching in front of the vent. He looked over his shoulder once as the vent opened, then crawled inside. Crouching while walking hurt his back. Waits got on his hands and knees, and swore in his mind when he realized he didn't know where the vent led. _All I know is that I have to get back to the Bureau._

With no map to guide him, Waits decided to go wherever the shaft led him. There would be a way out somewhere. Once he was out, he would find a way to get to the Bureau.

He didn't stop for fear the creature was in there with him, but he could sense himself becoming disoriented. He was beginning to feel sore, and prayed he would find a way out soon.

He stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

"You asshole. I have nothing you want," Ransome was snarling.

"Oh, shut up," a voice Waits didn't know replied. "Search him."

Waits peered through a grate to see a pair of Seegson Security men with Ransome. One of them was holding the executive's arms behind his back, while the other looked in every pocket on Ransome's clothing.

"Ammo," the searching guard said. "Hacking tool, torch, flashlight-what's this?"

"Looks like a drive," the other guard replied.

"That contains none of your business," Ransome hissed through clenched teeth.

"If you put it that way, we'll take it."

Waits kept moving. _I should just let them fight . . . but what's on that drive? Did he get all the stuff Lingard was going to give me about his shady shit?_

Finally, he found an exit. He checked his revolver before crawling out of the vent. A tight feeling of anxiety knotted his stomach. Down the hall, the two guards were still preoccupied with Ransome. Waits let out his breath, and crept toward them.

"What was that?"

Waits's blood froze. He saw one of the guards looking at him.

"Is that Marshal-" The guard was silenced by Ransome yanking his arms free and driving his fist in the guard's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He fumbled with his revolver. The gun clattered to the floor, and the second guard took the opportunity to kick Ransome hard in the chest when the exec dropped to grab it.

Regaining his breath, the guard Ransome had punched pulled the Seegson executive from the floor. "You're gonna make us work for this shit, aren't you?" the man snarled.

"Hey, stupid, just shoot him. It'll make things easier," the second guard said.

Blood and shards of his helmet exploded from the guard's head when Waits fired his shotgun. The guard holding Ransome took his revolver out, pointing it at Waits. Ransome was still fighting. He winced as he breathed, and Waits wondered if he was either badly bruised, or had broken ribs. Grabbing the guard's arm, he tried to wrestle the revolver from him.

Waits didn't think twice before picking up Ransome's gun. "Catch."

Freeing himself, Ransome grabbed the revolver, and aimed it at the guard. He glanced over at Waits, and a look of confusion, mixed with pain from his ribs, came over his face. Backing away, Ransome switched his aim from the guard to Waits, then back to the guard.

An expression of so many emotions crossed Ransome's face. He tried to steady his shaking limbs, and fired at the guard.

Waits glanced at Ransome when the guard fell. He expected the Seegson exec to turn the gun on him, but he didn't. Ransome lowered his weapon, looking at Waits. "You're welcome."

"Hold off on the thank-yous. What made you pick him over me?" Waits lowered his shotgun, but still kept it trained on Ransome.

Before Ransome could answer, he crumpled to one knee, grunting in pain and clutching the right side of his chest. Sighing, Waits slung his shotgun over his shoulder, and knelt by him. "Take it easy," Waits said. "You probably broke something."

"What's in it for you, Waits?" Ransome groaned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You'd never help me."

"Hey, I'm not leaving you to die. I hate your guts, but that doesn't mean I'm just leaving you here. Secondly, what the fuck is on that drive you're carrying?"

Ransome didn't answer at first. He swallowed hard, and tried to breathe heavily, but every breath was marred with pain. A second later, he began to cry. "It's everything . . . Lingard was gonna send to you . . . about me."

"How'd you get it?"

"Went to San Cristobal. Her office."

"When?"

"Last week."

Waits held out his hand. "Give it."

Slowly, Ransome gave him the drive. His face was wet and his eyes were red. After all these years, he finally looked defeated. Waits expected to feel somewhat satisfied from it, but he didn't.

"What else do you want, Waits?" Ransome asked.

"Nothing." _I want Lingard back. I know it wasn't you who took her from me, so I can't get mad at you. _"What about you? I know you hate me, so why'd you shoot the guard?"

"Because I want a truce. You couldn't get a truce from Sinclair, so you're getting a truce from me."

"Even though you know I'm handing your ass over to the authorities when we get to Gateway?"

"You are the authorities here, Waits, and you have all the evidence now. Do what you want with me! I don't care! Everyone's suffering now."

Having not heard anything regarding Ransome in the last several weeks, Waits wondered what exactly had happened when everything went to hell. The smug and arrogant look Ransome usually wore on his face was completely gone. He was a lot thinner, and his clothes were ripped and torn in some places. A part of Waits felt bad for Ransome. Where that pity came from, he wasn't sure. He figured it was natural. He knew it was so easy to give Ransome what he had coming to him for the last several years.

"We've got first-aid kits back at headquarters," Waits said. "Someone can take a look at your ribs when we get there."

"Get back? I can't go with you-"

"Either you come with me, shelter in the Bureau until we can get help, or you can go back to your pretty little suite and die. Anyone not after my ass is welcome to stay."

"You think everyone in there is gonna appreciate my company?" Ransome swallowed. "You'd probably _let them_ tear me apart."

"If this was a normal day, yeah, I'd let everyone you've blackmailed beat the shit outta you, but we have much bigger problems we're dealing with, and I'm not going to tolerate fights among my own people under my watch. I'm gonna treat you like I'm treating everyone else. When we get back, you'll be treated, and then you're gonna sit until you're healed. Once you're healed up, you're gonna be going out with one or two people in foraging parties. I expect cooperation, got it? If you don't listen to me, or you start picking fights with people, I'll throw your ass to the curb, and you can deal with Sinclair's thugs and the creature all by yourself." Waits held out his hand. "If you get lucky when we get outta here, you'll only spend ten-to-fifteen years in prison, and then you can go back to your life."

Releasing a ragged breath, Ransome took Waits's hand. Much to his surprise, Waits handed him his revolver.

"Do not leave my side," Waits growled. "This is your one and only shot at me letting you live."

Nodding, Ransome took the revolver. He was beginning to look more composed, despite the pain in his ribs. "When we get to a more . . . secure location, Waits, there's a couple things I need to tell you."

"OK. Put it on the backburner." Waits glanced around the darkened hallway. "Where exactly are we?"

"Above the suites. The elevator's at the end of the hall. Not sure if it works."

"Last I used it, it works."

"I'm honestly shocked you're up here by yourself, old fella."

Waits didn't respond. He didn't have time to make up an excuse, though; as they approached the stairs leading to the elevator, they spotted a bladed tail lying at the bottom of the stairs. Waits's stomach clenched when he heard someone scream, followed by the sickening sound of the alien driving its inner jaw into some unfortunate soul's skull. Then the tail disappeared.

"Go slow, and stay behind me," Waits whispered to Ransome. They headed down the stairs, both watching blood pool around the corner.

_Son-of-a-bitch is blocking the elevator!_ Waits resisted the urge to curse aloud. He got a good look at the alien with its back to him. Its tail moved slowly, like a cat's.

"Isn't there another way?" Ransome hissed.

"The stairs are just past that thing. Only other way now is the vents." Waits glanced around frantically. "We'll have to backtrack. Come on."

Silently, they turned around. When they felt they were out of the creature's earshot, they began jogging. Panic was flooding Waits's senses. Something bad was going to-

They heard something thudding in the ceiling. In the vents. Waits felt a chill shoot down his spine when he heard a hiss. Something wet landed on his cap. Thick, ropy saliva dripped from the visor. Then he heard another scream.

He stopped and whirled around to see Ransome struggling in the creature's clawed grasp. He kicked, screamed, punched, and tried to run. Waits dashed over to him, grabbed his hands. "Just hang on!" he grunted, pulling.

"Shoot it!" Ransome howled.

"It's got acid for blood! I can't!"

The creature squeezed Ransome's torso. Waits could see the intense pain in Ransome's eyes. The exec's body shuddered. "Please . . ." he moaned. "Stop . . ."

The alien's great, bony hand moved up Ransome's chest, stopping when it found the spot where the Seegson Security guard had kicked him. It squeezed him, enough to hurt, but not enough to break more ribs. Ransome was screaming, and the creature seemed to be _delighting_ in Ransome's pain.

Tears streamed down Ransome's face. The screams had turned into outright sobbing. He was gripping Waits's hands tighter.

"Goddammit!" Waits growled as he roughly tugged Ransome. The more he pulled, the harder the creature squeezed Ransome's ribs. It seemed to be playing with them, tormenting both of them.

Waits drew in a breath, ready to make one final effort to free Ransome, but it seemed the creature was done playing around. With a hiss, it yanked Ransome from Waits's grip.

"No! Shit!" Waits stared up at the vent. He could hear Ransome's screams echoing, then blood dripped down the shaft.

Silence crashed over like a wave. Waits continued looking up at the pitch-black shaft, watching Ransome's blood run down the sides and onto the floor. The inside of his chest ached. He hated Ransome for sure, but he was still a civilian on this station, and it was Waits's obligation to protect him. Waits felt like he failed.

_I couldn't protect Lissa. Or Sterling. Or Morley. Or . . ._ His heart twisted, and he swallowed hard. _Lingard._ He looked down at his boots, eyeing the expanding puddles of blood on the floor. His tears splashed next to them, mixing with the blood. Ribbons of red began to swirl in the tiny droplets.

* * *

_Question: Could it have been possible for Waits and Ransome's relationship to change?_


	28. Chapter 28

_2137_

Waits returned to the Marshal Bureau the same way he had left-alone. He refused to make eye contact with anyone inside, and simply headed into his office. Almost as soon as he sat down, someone knocked on the door. "What?"

"I need to speak to you for a moment, sir," Raine said.

Waits sighed. "Fine."

Raine entered, quietly closing the door behind him. "One of the teams picked up someone outside San Cristobal. A medic. Hatcher, I think her name is."

Waits found himself wincing a little just hearing the words "San Cristobal."

Raine lowered himself into a chair, giving Waits a sympathetic look. "Sir . . . I really am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It's my fault. I couldn't save her."

"It's not your fault," Raine said, softly. "You have no control over that creature."

"No, but I should've destroyed it a long time ago."

Raine was quiet for a moment. "Would . . . Would she blame you?"

"Probably not. She even told me she doesn't want me giving up."

"Then . . . that's what you should do. Don't give up. Keep fighting. I-I know I haven't been the best help-"

"I'll give you credit for trying. You're the only person in the Goddamn Bureau who's had the courage to actually talk to me. The only fucking Marshal I have left is Ricardo, and I hear him whispering to people that I'm stubborn and don't listen to anyone. The fact that my own personnel are talking shit behind my back . . ." Waits swallowed. "The fact that I'm trusting a civvie more than my own deputy says a lot, doesn't it?"

"That's not your fault, sir," Raine said. "The rest of us don't have any leadership experience, so . . . we're all turning to you."

Waits nodded.

"We're all counting on you, sir. I know it's not . . . it's not easy when you're grieving, but I don't think Lingard would've wanted you to hole yourself up."

"She wouldn't." Waits rubbed his face. "How are we on supplies?"

"We've got enough food and water for everyone. We've got flashlights, ammunition, batteries. I think we'll be able to hold out here for a few days before things start running low."

"OK. No foraging parties for a couple days, then. Give you all a break."

"We still have some groups out."

"When they get back, let them know."

Raine nodded. "I'll go get you some food."

"I'm not hungry. Save it for someone else."

"You haven't eaten or slept in a few days. You need it."

Sighing, Waits hung his head. "Alright."

A slight smile crossed Raine's face before he went back out into the lobby. Waits caught a glimpse of the medic they had picked up. She was kneeling next to someone, talking quietly. A minute later, she stood up, absentmindedly adjusting her ponytail. She looked in Waits's direction, and picked up her kit before walking over to his office door. "Hello, Marshal." She looked over her shoulder, and sighed. "I'm sorry about Lingard. I worked with her a lot. Such a nice lady. And she could go on about you."

Waits didn't respond. He should have taken that as a compliment, but he wasn't in the mood.

Looking a little unsure about what she was saying, Hatcher set her kit on one of the tables, and quickly changed the subject. "Mind if I check you over, Marshal?"

"What for?"

"To make sure you're healthy." Hatcher opened the kit. "Can I see your wrist?"

Waits sighed, holding out his left wrist. He figured it was best not to argue her, despite his own irritability. _We all gotta be friends here._

Hatcher was quiet as she worked. She wrote down Waits's pulse, then took an electronic thermometer from her bag, gently pressing it to Waits's forehead. "Normal . . . Any headaches? Nausea?"

"No."

"Any complaints at all? Pain, weakness, fainting spells?"

"No."

Raine strolled back in with a ration pack. "Hatcher. Good to see you." He grinned. "I see you two are getting along."

"I wouldn't necessarily say that," Hatcher replied. "I'm just looking him over."

Raine nodded, setting the pack on a desk. "Alright. I'll leave you be, then."

Hatcher finished up her exam, declaring Waits to be in good shape, though slightly malnourished and dehydrated. She closed up her bag. "I didn't bring a lot of supplies," she said. "I might have to go back with a foraging party to get more."

"Whatever you need, go get. Just make sure you have people with you, and arm yourself." Waits glanced at the ration pack. He still felt torn up inside from grief. How could he think about food or water or sleep? _If Lingard wouldn't want me to give up, that means I need to take care of myself. I always got on her case about not taking care of herself. And she did the same for me._

Waits had been reminding Lingard to slow down since before they started dating. It wasn't hard to notice she didn't take a lot of breaks, so he took it upon himself to help. Eventually, Lingard started doing the same for him.

In the latest hours of the night, it was easy to think they were the only living beings on Sevastopol. Waits would forever hate going to San Cristobal at night, but he did it anyway. There were times where Lingard really couldn't leave the hospital because of certain patients, so Waits slept with her on the cots in the nurse's quarters. It wasn't comfortable, but he didn't mind as long as she was kept warm.

Waits smirked as he thought about that. _She told me I was pretty good with spooning once. Never gonna experience that again. _He waited until Hatcher had left before taking the ration pack. None of its contents looked particularly appetizing, but Waits wasn't complaining. His primal needs had finally won over. The rations were highly salty, but rich in nutrients Waits hadn't put in his system for quite some time. He resisted the urge to eat faster when he realized how hungry he was.

"You're gonna make yourself sick." Lingard had to stop Waits from eating to his heart's content on nights where he was late for dinner and skipped lunch. "Just . . . slow down, would you?"

"Sorry." Waits took a minute or so to breathe before putting another forkful of food in his mouth.

Lingard tugged Waits's cap, not saying anything else. She smiled, though. "This is all store-bought. I can't cook."

"You say that every single time I come over." Waits sighed. "Look, maybe it'd boost your confidence if somebody taught you how."

"Well, I know it wouldn't be you. I've seen you cook, sweetie. You burn everything and don't get me started on that chicken creation you did a few months ago."

Waits smirked. "At least I tried. You haven't."

"It would be a disaster."

Standing up, Waits adjusted his belt before looking Lingard in the eye. "Come on. Give it one shot. I'd like to see you more confident."

Blushing, Lingard looked at the floor. "Waits-"

He touched her chin, gently lifting her head. "Hey, it'll be OK, sweetheart. You're smart. You could figure it out if you set your mind to it. Plus, one of us is gonna be cooking when we get off Sevastopol."

Lingard looked up at him. "If I'm going to learn, you're going to learn, too." She hugged him, standing on her toes to nuzzle his face.

Waits tried to pull himself from his thoughts. He missed those little nuzzles and every rapid heartbeat that led to a passionate kiss. He didn't want to forget, but he didn't want to remember, either. Her death was still fresh. The memories were still pounding down on him, and he couldn't hold them back.

He had managed to finish half of the ration pack before feeling his throat close. Tears rolled down his face, and he gave a heavy sigh. _Sweetheart, I miss you so much._

* * *

Things became quiet over the next several days. Waits's grief came and went in waves. As more and more time passed, the less intense the waves were. He felt numb on occasion. He had no desire to sleep. He stayed awake and sat with a shotgun across his lap while watching over the survivors who somehow could sleep. It was during those long nights where he felt most broken.

He tried not to think about the nights he spent with Lingard. Memories that were supposed to be happy took a different turn when he told himself that when he finally left Sevastopol, he would be sharing a bed with no one. He tried not to think about turning onto his side and seeing no one next to him.

"You will start to heal when you get out of here," Raine told him. "That's just how grief works. It might take longer in some people, but . . . it eventually happens."

Waits wasn't entirely sure what kept him going every day. Most likely, he thought, it was the group of people gathered with him in the Bureau. They were all scared, broken, distraught. He thought about what he would want if he was in their position. _I'd want someone doing their damnedest to fight every single day. _He had to be that. It was painful at times, but he had to be that.

There was a day where he finally managed to doze. Raine insisted on it, while he and Jav watched over the rest of the survivors. Waits rested his head in his arms on his desk, feeling his heartbeat slowing down. A somewhat relaxed feeling flooded his body, as if it were thanking him for finally resting.

That feeling didn't last long. He became aware of something flashing on the desk. A jolt of energy exploded through him. _A ship trying to call? Rescue? Please, let this be rescue! _Swallowing, he grabbed a set of headphones and pressed a button, letting the message through.

A female voice filled his ears. "This is the commercial vessel _Torrens_ out of Saint Clair, registration number MSV-7760, calling Sevastopol traffic control. We're carrying three passengers on a Weyland-Yutani bond. You're holding the _Nostromo_ flight recorder unit. We request immediate permission to transfer the passengers port-side. Over."

_That's not rescue._ Waits's heart sank. The energy drained from him. _They can't dock. They shouldn't dock. It's too dangerous._ He paused, taking a moment to breathe. _They probably have functioning long-range comms, though. They can call for help. _He swallowed again, taking another breath before sending his reply. "This is Waits, Colonial Marshal at Sevastopol Station. We have a serious situation here. Non-local comms are down and we need you to send out an emergency message, do you read me? Repeat, our ranged communications are down, and we need help. Stand off, and send help."

He waited. One heartbeat. Two. Nervous sweat ran down his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, under his cap. Anxiety snowballed in his stomach. A full minute passed by, yet it felt like an hour.

The _Torrens_ didn't respond.

"Shit," Waits hissed. _The message may not have gotten through. Oh, God, how am I gonna reach her? _"Raine!" he shouted.

Raine jogged in, his shotgun slung. "Yes, sir?"

"I just got a message from a ship approaching. I can't get a reply out to them."

"Are they a rescue vessel?" Raine asked.

"No. Some Weyland-Yutani ship that was sent out to pick up something. They must've left before shit got bad here. I have to make contact with them. Is there anyone out there who can build some kind of device that can help us boost a signal or something?"

Raine's face paled. "I don't think so. Someone would have to go to Seegson Comms, and . . . it's crawling with Working Joes and Security guards."

Waits groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Fuck."

"I'll go see if any of our people used to work there. We'll figure something out."

When Raine left, Waits headed into another section of the Bureau, punching in a code to access the station's security cameras. More than half were down. Miraculously, the outer ones were still up. He spotted the _Torrens_ parked outside the station. "What the hell?" he breathed when he noticed the ship's airlock opening. _Oh, they really didn't get the message . . ._

He watched as three suited figures emerged. A horrible sinking feeling pressed in his stomach. _Jesus, I gotta reach them somehow-_

An explosion rocked the camera. Waits nearly jumped back. The tether the three figures were using had been severed. Blood drained from his face, but he couldn't watch anymore; a huge piece of debris smashed into the camera. There was nothing but gray and white static.

"Shit!" Waits slammed his fist on the table. That hadn't been one of his traps. He knew it wasn't one of his traps. _This piece of shit is falling apart! He stood up, holding his head, groaning, pacing. Oh my God, they're dead, and I have no way of calling the captain. Son-of-a-bitch! _He sat back down, cycling through the camera feeds, and getting nothing.

His body sagged. _Great. Something malfunctioned and killed all the passengers in one fucking heartbeat._ He felt sick, covering his face and continuing to moan in sorrow and disappointment.

* * *

With no means of contacting the _Torrens_, Waits felt powerless. He sat for several hours, hoping the ship would try to contact him again, but he got nothing. Raine suggested waiting for the foraging parties to return, perhaps someone among them knew how the dishes in Seegson Comms worked. Waits couldn't tell how much patience he had left in his stores, but he willed himself to just sit and gather up what little patience he still had. The only thing granting him any kind of hope was the fact that another trap had been set over in San Cristobal. All he could do was hope. Hope that he would finally dispose of that hellish creature. He was starting to think he needed to try something else if the explosives failed again.

Needing a moment to breathe, he stepped outside the Bureau, holding a cigarette Raine had given him. As he searched his pockets for his lighter, he felt something hard and plastic. Frowning, he pulled out a set of I.D. tags.

_Lingard's_ I.D. tags.

His heart ached. Absentmindedly, he kept searching for his lighter while staring at her picture. He wondered when it had been taken. She told him she had been excited to start working here. That sweet and innocent smile suggested it had been taken shortly after she arrived on Sevastopol. That sweet and adorable smile actually warmed his insides, and he smiled back.

He found the lighter in one of his jacket pockets. His gaze remained focused on Lingard's picture as he flipped on the lighter, and touched the tiny flame to the end of his cigarette. After putting out the lighter, Waits slid it back in his pocket. He drew in a breath, then took the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. His posture relaxed, and he sighed, smoke flowing around him.

He loved that smile on her. He could remember seeing that smile every time he showed up to her office. Even if she was having a rough day, she smiled when she saw him. She smiled when holding his hand, or cuddling with him. She smiled when she woke up every morning next to him.

"Good morning," she'd whisper.

Waits was usually still asleep, snoring away. With a sigh, Lingard would gently shake him. That was enough to wake him most of the time. If that didn't work, she hit him with a pillow.

His eyes would open, and he would grin at her. "Good morning," he whispered back. "Sweetheart."

"Big goof." Lingard smirked. She moved closer to kiss him. "Hi."

"Hi." He nuzzled her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good. Ready to face today?"

"After coffee," Waits said.

He smiled at the memory. He sighed again, exhaling smoke. _I'm gonna miss little things like that._

One of the survivors stepped outside, looking at Waits. "Sir? We've got . . . a bit of an issue."

"What?" Waits asked.

"Someone who was wounded on their last foraging trip. The wound's gotten infected, and we don't have supplies."

"Where's Jav or Hatcher?" Waits stood up, taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

"Hatcher's out with a group. Jav and Raine are out as well."

"Dammit." Waits took a moment to think, rubbing his face. "I'll go. I'll . . . get a kit from San Cristobal."

"Are you sure you want to do this, sir?"

"I'm positive. I've done enough sitting around." Waits headed into the Bureau, the survivor following him. "I'll take Ricardo with me."

"Who would you like in charge while you're out, sir?"

Letting out his breath, Waits glanced around the room. "Ah . . . Relinka, I need you to watch everyone for a few hours, alright, son?"

Perched on a desk, a thin, young man with blond hair nodded.

"Thanks." Waits opened the cylinder of his revolver. After making sure the gun was loaded, he put a small box full of bullets in his pocket. A part of him didn't want to go back to San Cristobal, but he knew this had to be done. He couldn't let his people down. Lingard wouldn't want him to.

He glanced at Ricardo as his reluctant deputy loaded a shotgun. It wasn't difficult to see the two didn't get along, though Waits refused to let his personal differences get in the way of duty. As they left the Bureau, Waits managed to finish his cigarette. He didn't say a word to Ricardo as they headed to the elevator. _I just hope the transit works._ Waits felt sick while thinking about the possibility that he could get stuck in the transit tunnel again. At least he knew what to do, and how to get to San Cristobal from there. _I should've gotten Jav or Raine to come with me instead. _He wouldn't be able to wait for them, though; they were both getting supplies from the Systech Spire, and that was a long walk if the transit had failed.

Waits was cautious as they entered the elevator, glancing around for the creature. He half-expected to see trails of saliva or blood or something. Today, there was nothing, but he didn't release his breath just yet. Of course, there was more than the alien. There were the broken androids and hostile civilians and Sinclair's goons. His thoughts turned to the explosion that killed the passengers from the _Torrens_. He had to worry about the _station itself_ turning on him.

He wanted Lingard's comfort and Morley's optimism. He wanted Lissa's words of encouragement and Sterling's brains. The only other person he could think of was his sister, and she was millions of miles away. Safe. He couldn't bear to think of her in this situation.

Waits held the railing on the elevator wall, trying to steer his thoughts to something else. _Something other than Lingard . . ._

It was difficult to think about something else. Waits kept his eyes shut, but quickly realized that wasn't a good idea. The movement of the elevator was lulling him off. Every muscle wanted to go slack, until he forced himself awake. He grabbed the railing with his other hand, now focused on trying not to fall asleep. His sleep-starved brain was begging him to drop off.

He spent the ride down fighting himself. _I gotta stay awake, _he wanted to moan aloud. He adjusted his stance, and stood straight, feeling joints pop. He knew he was pushing himself, physically, and it hurt. If everything outside didn't get him, he imagined he would probably collapse if he tried doing something like this again.

_I just gotta make this one run, and then I can't go out anymore. Raine was right; I need to rest. If I don't rest, I'll wear myself out, and these people won't have anyone to lead them. _Waits let out a quiet sigh. His decision was final. He would get a medical kit for the injured survivor, but he needed to take it easy for a little while. Just as he had told Lingard.

The elevator stopped at the transit station. Waits nearly cursed aloud when he saw the station and platform were pitch-black. _It's completely down!_ He turned to Ricardo. "We'll have to go through the Engineering Deck."

"That'll take ages," Ricardo replied.

"Do you have a better way? The transit control room is all the way in fucking SciMed. We can't restart it from here. Now, we can stand here arguing, or we can get moving before that gentleman with a fever gets worse."

Waits had never gone through the Engineering Decks on his own, or at least without someone who actually knew their way around. Jav and Raine had spent weeks holed up down there, and knew it by heart. Waits trusted their knowledge. It was a pity neither of them were engineers; they would be able to restart the transit when they reached SciMed.

Regardless, Waits couldn't afford to wait for them. God only knew how they were doing out in Systech.

* * *

The walk was long, and Waits could tell he hadn't made such a long walk in awhile. Then again, he had been down in the Engineering Decks before with different people. People whose company he had come to appreciate.

Raine offered to have Waits accompany him and Jav on a foraging expedition not that long ago, just so Waits could get out of the Bureau for a little while. It was more than just another supply run; most of the walk was spent talking to one another. Raine revealed he had been an intern in the research facility of Sevastopol's Science and Medical division.

"I came here on a college pass a couple years ago. September, 2135. Why, I'll never know," Raine said. "The place was already starting to look rundown."

"Same person who lied to my boss about Sevastopol being a busy hub probably lied to your college as well, son," Waits replied. "Willing to bet it was Ransome." He looked at Raine, giving a small smirk. "You really don't look like the scientist type."

"To be honest, I . . . thought that's what I wanted to do. I scored high on my tests. Everyone told me the medical research field paid good money, so . . . that's what I did."

"Oh, bullshit, son, you should've done what you really wanted to do. Come on. Tell me what you really wanna do. You don't seem like the type that wants to sit and play with chemicals all fucking day."

Raine grinned. "Well . . ." He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm . . . I-I've always been good at building models of things. Small-scale."

"Then go do it. If that makes you happy, go make a career out of it."

"I-I'd have to back out of my major entirely. Spent a lot of money."

"Don't worry about it. I'll help you out."

"I couldn't do that to you, sir."

"My plans for when I leave Sevastopol were royally fucked. Least I could do to just . . . feel like I'm doing something, and repay you for all you've done. You can crash on my couch so you have somewhere to sleep at night. You wouldn't be intruding."

"Take his offer, buddy," Jav said, not looking up from a box of batteries. He was testing them in his flashlight to make sure they worked.

"You're welcome to join him," Waits added.

"I'll visit for the holidays. I got my degrees and shit a long time ago. They'd be nuts not to hire me on Gateway when we get the hell outta here."

Waits was pulled from his thoughts and memories when he and Ricardo approached the elevator that would take them to San Cristobal. A chill suddenly moved down his spine. The darkened station had been eerily silent. There was nothing to suggest anyone else was there besides himself and Ricardo, yet Waits felt like there was someone else nearby.

"We're not alone," Waits muttered. He looked around, searching for signs of the creature. When he didn't see any, he gestured for Ricardo to follow him. As they moved further into the transit station, he could smell blood. _Either someone's hurt, or it's just something left behind by that-_His thoughts stopped when he spotted a man kneeling by a younger woman with glasses. The left side of her suit was badly stained with blood.

"Colonial Marshals," the man whispered. "Thank God." He stood up. "Are either of you Marshal Waits?"

Waits gestured to himself. "Who are you two? I've never seen either of you here on Sevastopol."

"I'm Samuels. Taylor and I . . . we spacewalked from the _Torrens_."

* * *

_Question: How does Waits's perspective change the opening of the events of Isolation?_


	29. Chapter 29

_2137_

"How in the ever-living fuck did you survive that explosion?" Waits asked, tired mind unable to comprehend that these two were alive.

"We were still able to get to an airlock. Taylor was injured by debris on the way in," Samuels said.

"Did you not get my message? How the fuck you've survived the last few hours, I'll never know."

"We couldn't hear your message, sir."

"So you just decided to cross onto here anyway?" Waits bit his lip. "I sent you a clear directive not to land on-station!"

Samuels looked a little peeved. "I told you, we didn't hear your message. We understood you would be-"

Behind them, the doors leading to the platform opened. Waits whirled around, aiming his revolver at a young woman, who was covered in sweat and soot. She lifted her hands slightly, switching her gaze between Waits, Ricardo, and Samuels. "Hey."

Waits kept his gun trained on her. "Identify yourself."

The woman took a breath. She looked tense and scared. "Ripley. From the _Torrens_."

_OK. She's one of them._ Waits flicked the safety back on his revolver. "Relax, kid," he said, gently. _Given how long they've been here . . . can't imagine what the poor girl's seen. _He holstered his weapon, watching Ripley and Samuels kneel by the injured woman. Ripley must have been through San Cristobal; she had a medkit. _There's stuff in there that'll help the sick man back in the Bureau, _Waits thought.

As Samuels got to work on Taylor, Ripley turned to look up at Waits. "What the hell is going on here, Marshal? Where's the security forces?"

"You're looking at them," Waits replied, giving a half-shrug.

Ripley glanced over at Ricardo, then back at Waits. Standing, she said, "I've seen the creature. What is it?"

"I don't know. Something brought here by Marlow, the captain of the _Anesidora_." It pained Waits to think of Marlow. He had avoided it for awhile, glad Marlow was still locked in a cell. _He brought that thing here. He fucking got Lingard killed. _He swallowed his anger, letting it fester in the pit of his stomach.

"The ship that found the flight recorder," Samuels added.

Ripley kept her gaze on Waits. "Is there anywhere safe left on the station? That creature's running around and the Seegson synthetics are less than friendly."

"Goddamn androids," Waits growled, some of his anger beginning to boil to his surface.

"Ripley," Samuels spoke up, "Taylor needs attention."

Looking back at Waits, Ripley said, "Medical's a no-go. We can't take her there."

"We have a basic life-support unit back at HQ," Waits replied.

Samuels was eager to go, though Waits had to douse the excitement by telling them the transit was down. "Control's upstairs." He looked at Ripley. If the creature was still running around, as she had put it, that meant the explosives set in San Cristobal hadn't done their job. _I don't know you. Don't make my fucking job harder than it already is. _"Go make yourself useful, seeing as you screwed up the trap."

Ripley gave him a look. "Yeah, right, we'll talk about that later, Waits. You protect them while I'm gone, understood?"

Waits bit his tongue. Any other day, he would have flipped his middle finger in her direction for talking to him like that, but he knew it was best to not have any infighting in his own group. That, and he didn't have the energy. _They have a ship. If we want a chance at getting out of here, I can't be getting angry. _Once he was connected to her radio headset, she left to head up to transit control.

_Why the fuck am I just letting her do this anyway?_ Waits rubbed his face. _I'm completely wiped out, that's why._ He looked at Samuels and Ricardo. Sure, there were two other people with him, plus the injured Taylor on the floor, but he felt alone. _Maybe I should've waited for Jav and Raine._

He looked up at the ceiling, then back down at Taylor. "We should get her off the floor. Can we move her?"

"I've got the bleeding under control," Samuels said. "Is there anything we can use as a stretcher?"

"We'd have to go back up to San Cristobal, and I don't know how much damage the explosives did. Not to mention, it's probably too dangerous." Waits sighed. "I'll carry her."

Something twisted inside his chest. _You can save a stranger. But you couldn't save Lingard. Why couldn't you save her? Why? _His throat closed, and he turned away from the group.

"Are you alright, Marshal?" Samuels asked.

"Yeah," Waits said. He didn't say anything else, not wanting to say too much. His entire body started to ache as he struggled to resist the urge to cry. He felt like his emotions would rupture from his chest and belly. Trying to distract himself, he looked in the direction of the transit platform. The lights turning on several minutes later pulled him from his thoughts. _Holy shit, she did it._ A slight grin crossed his face, and he turned to the others. "Looks like the kid got it running. Let's get a move on." He tapped his headset before carefully lifting Taylor, walking slowly toward the platform. "Ripley, the transit's here and we're waiting on you."

"Take it," Ripley replied. "I had some trouble, so it'll be a little while before I get back."

"We can wait."

"Taylor can't. I can catch the next car."

"Your call." Waits paused, glancing around the dim and empty space. A sound echoed. A sound like a voice. He couldn't see who it belonged to, nor could he tell if it was friendly.

* * *

As the group left the transit car at the habitation towers, Waits let out an anxious breath. _I don't think those people were any of ours. _He activated his radio. "Ripley, we heard voices as we left. Watch yourself."

Some of the survivors in the Bureau looked cautious and nervous when Waits returned with new people. His heart sank when he didn't see Jav or Raine or Hatcher. _I hope they're OK._ Waits helped with getting Taylor on the life-support unit. "Does she need antibiotics?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so," Samuels replied.

"Alright. I've got someone in here who needs 'em, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead."

Waits took a vial of a clear fluid from the kit, along with bandages. He headed to another section of the Bureau, where a small group of people were sitting with a young, dark-haired man laying across a bench. "How's he doing?" Waits asked.

"Very feverish," Relinka replied. "What took so long?"

"Transit was down, and we had to traverse through Engineering." Waits knelt by the sick man. "Picked up some new friends along the way."

"I thought I heard some different voices."

"They came from a ship docked outside. I gotta get in touch with her captain somehow." Waits sighed, gesturing to the sick man. "Where's his wound?"

A woman seated next to him lifted the man's left sleeve. The wound was warm and infected.

"Alright, that's gotta get drained . . . I need a tissue." Waits grimaced a little while draining the pus from the wound. As he cleaned it and applied new bandages, Relinka spoke up.

"Did the trap over in SciMed work?"

"No," Waits sighed. "I gotta think of something else. I can't keep sending you guys out for material to build bombs. That was our last set."

"We could seal it in somewhere."

"We tried that a long time ago."

"I meant somewhere that can be sealed off completely. No vents, no doors, no openings it could possibly fit through. Systech would be your best bet."

Waits was silent as he administered the antibiotic through a needle. _How the hell do we lure the creature in one of those labs, though? _"Alright, buddy, you should start feeling better soon," he whispered. "Keep an eye on him, Relinka."

He left the room, finding Ricardo by one of the computers. "Hey, run a couple scans on Lorenz. I got an idea for finally taking care of that thing." When Ricardo obeyed, Waits headed to his desk. Along the way, he passed the small row of cells. Only one was occupied. He heard a door open, and turned to see Ripley entering the Bureau.

"How's Taylor?" she asked.

"Stable," Waits replied. "She'll be walking soon enough. Samuels is with her now."

"OK." Ripley approached him. "Where's Ricardo?"

_Why the fuck would you want to know where he is?_ "Prepping our next move." He leaned over his desk, poring over a set of blueprints Raine had nabbed from the research labs a few weeks ago. Some kind of sonic charge he thought would be strong enough to disorient the creature and give Waits a chance to nail it in the head with a couple of shotgun shells. They couldn't find the materials to build it, though. "Look, I'm busy. I've got Marlow in the cells, the lowlife who showed up with your flight recorder."

"Where's Marlow's ship, the _Anesidora_?" Ripley asked.

"He put it in a parking orbit around the gas giant. Son-of-a-bitch won't give us the command codes to let us bring it in on auto. Maybe you can get more outta the unhelpful bastard. Go talk to him." Waits could only hope Ripley could get some information out of Marlow; he was on the verge of resorting to torture. _Vengeance. Absolute, pure vengeance for the hell he brought here. _Waits's chest ached as he watched Ripley leave. Once she had her back to him, he let his face relax, and pain surfaced. Tears dripped onto the blueprints, onto the impossible dream of building it. Waits sighed, hoping his idea would be the last one.

It had been quiet in the Bureau until Ripley started talking to Marlow. Waits's ears pricked to listen. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Ripley mention she had taken the journey on the _Torrens_ for personal reasons.

"My mother was on the _Nostromo_ when it went missing fifteen years ago," she said.

Waits felt pity and sympathy drive through his heart like a nail.

"You serious? Shit." Marlow paused. "Well . . . shit. We never found her ship, Ripley, just the recorder."

"But you sure as hell found something else. What happened out there?" Ripley asked.

"I need a way outta here, Ripley. Maybe we could make a deal."

Waits tensed. _Oh, kid, don't let your emotions get in the way here. Don't even think about trying to convince my stubborn ass to let him out!_

Ripley wasn't buying it. "Just start talking. I want to know everything."

Marlow started telling her what he refused to tell Waits and the other Marshals a long time ago. His ship had landed on a moon not too far from KG-348, following a beacon of some kind. A rocky and completely uninhabitable place, with harsh winds and an unbreathable atmosphere. There, they came across a bizarre, horseshoe-shaped spacecraft, possibly alien in origin. His story wasn't all that interesting to Waits until he came to describing an expansive chamber of large eggs. From one of those eggs came a pale spider-like critter that broke through the helmet of Marlow's wife.

_I can't believe Sinclair just let them in._ Waits sighed heavily. _I can't believe they used that fucking black box to get in. I knew they were hiding something. Why didn't I listen to my gut in the first place?!_

"I want to know more," Ripley said, breaking Waits's thoughts. "Everything. Where's your ship? If we can break the comms lockdown, what're the codes to bring it in on auto?"

"If you want more, then you need to get me outta here," Marlow replied.

_Don't do it, kid,_ Waits thought.

"Not happening, Marlow," Ripley shot.

"Is that right?" Marlow snapped. "Well you know where I am."

_Good girl._ Waits allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. _Not easily bribed or suckered. I like that._

Ricardo's voice got both his attention and Ripley's. "Waits, my board in the Tech Spire just lit up like a Christmas tree . . . It's here."

"Plan B. Set it up." Waits grew hopeful.

"Whatever's happening, I want in," Ripley spoke up.

Waits looked at her, admittedly surprised she was volunteering before even knowing what the plan was. Then again, he didn't have anyone else he felt would be able to undertake this task. _I gotta trust her. _"OK." He headed toward a smaller room. "This way. Got something here you'll need." Unlocking the door, he revealed to Ripley a little project one of the engineers had been working on. A crude propane-powered flamethrower. Waits had wanted to test it himself, but figured handing it off to Ripley was a better idea. He sat on the edge of a desk, observing her holding the flamethrower. _Just don't test-shoot it in there, kid._

"Let's hope this thing works," she said.

"It's an animal," Waits replied. _Worse, to be completely honest. _"Animals are afraid of fire."

"I hope you're right."

"I've got a plan to trap it." Waits stood, walking to the main door of the Bureau. "Take a transit car and meet Ricardo in the Systech Spire. I'll coordinate from here." It pained him to say that. He wished he was the one going out, taking this risk. Still, he watched the girl leave without another word.

Relinka emerged from another room. "Any of us could've gone, sir."

"I think she can do it," Waits said. "I got faith in her. Plus, she volunteered." He returned to his desk, taking a breath before putting on his headset. "Hopefully, she runs into Jav and Raine and Hatcher." As he adjusted his radio settings, he noticed someone in the corner of his eye.

Samuels walked up to Relinka's side. "Marshal, I'd really hate to disturb you, but is there anything I could do to assist?"

"Are you a medic or engineer or technician or something?" Waits asked.

"Not necessarily, but I am one of Weyland-Yutani's newer androids. I don't know if Seegson's mainframe will permit me to access the system, though."

"They're not letting anyone access the system. The Working Joes fucked themselves somehow. If you can forcibly access Apollo to lift the Goddamn lockdown, that'd be a big help."

Samuels nodded. "I'll see what I can do, Marshal."

"Thanks." Waits turned back to the desk, tapping his headset. "Ripley? You on your way?"

"Yeah," Ripley replied.

"I sent your guy Samuels to Android Processing. Once this thing's dead, I'm gonna get him to access Apollo and lift the lockdown."

"Samuels OK doing that?"

"Guy said he wanted to help, and I have my hands full here. Besides, he's a synthetic. Should be easier for him to get in there."

"I guess." Ripley sounded hesitant, unsure.

Waits swallowed. There was no time for a drawn-out pep talk. "Look, Ripley, we're the only people standing between Sevastopol and outright disaster."

"Outright disaster's already happened, Waits. All we can do now is kill that fucker."

Waits didn't respond. He rubbed his face, giving a sigh that he hoped wasn't audible to Ripley. He didn't want to admit she was right. Had outright disaster already happened? A part of him thought so, and if that was the case . . . _I'm failing at my job._

His body tensed as his thoughts turned to a previous outright disaster. The mangled corpses on LV-112. Blood, tissue, and vomit coated the inside of the bunker. Waits realized he had been holding one of his Marshals for a long time, despite the fact that the man was dead. _That_ was a disaster.

Waits remained locked in his flashback, covering his face as he shivered. He could still hear every sound, every scream. He could still feel a raw pain in his throat and lungs from the fire and ash. Everything hurt as fresh as it had ten years ago.

* * *

About an hour passed before the doors of the Bureau opened again. Jav, Raine, and Hatcher walked in. Waits breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them. "You were gone awhile. Damn near scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry, sir," Raine said. "We ran into a woman telling us to leave Systech."

"I sent her."

Raine's hazel eyes widened. "All alone? You said-"

"She volunteered to go. I'm going to trap that creature in the labs, but I need her to lock down the whole system."

Setting his shotgun on the desk, Raine sat next to Waits. "Any of us could've gone."

"That's the same thing Relinka told me," Waits replied. "Ripley volunteered to do this, and if she thinks she can do this, then . . . I'm gonna let her. I can't do it myself."

Jav and Hatcher left to check on the other survivors. Raine stayed with Waits. "I hope this plan works." He sighed, then looked at Waits. "I don't remember seeing her on Sevastopol before."

"She and two others came from the _Torrens_. Turns out whatever exploded didn't kill them, thank God."

"Do you actually trust her?"

"Who? Ripley?" Waits paused to think. "We haven't had much of a chance to talk. She wasn't too happy about the trap in San Cristobal. I mean, I don't blame her, but I had no idea she was in there. Overheard her say she came because of the flight recorder. Her mother was on the _Nostromo_ when it vanished."

Raine nodded. "That's a shame."

"I don't have the heart to tell her what the engineers found on the recorder; there was nothing. I got a message saying the box was empty and the files were all corrupted not that long after the creature came outta the woman from the _Anesidora_."

"Jesus." Raine looked at his lap. "So this was a waste of time for her."

"Yeah. I don't know what I'm gonna say when we get some time to just talk."

"Maybe . . . I could be there with you."

"If you could keep the situation calm, that'd be appreciated." Waits sighed. "I feel bad for her."

Raine was quiet for a moment. "Whenever I got to work in San Cristobal, I liked helping some of the psych patients with Kuhlman and Morley. Kuhlman . . . wasn't a big help, but Morley was, and I took it upon myself to visit some of the patients with him. I got more out of that than I did in the labs." He smiled a little. "I know how to diffuse a situation, thanks to Morley."

Waits felt his throat close.

Raine bit his lip. "Glad to have known him, that's for sure. He was a good friend."

"He was." Waits took a breath. "Lingard, too."

A smile tugged on the edges of Raine's mouth. "You and Lingard were a lot more than friends. Every time you visited, everyone in San Cristobal knew, because she lit up like a firefly and acted like she was seventeen years old. When you left, she always had this dreamy look in her eyes. Wasn't that hard to see you both had a crush on each other. That, and Morley tended to talk about you two."

Waits snorted. "Even though I told him not to?"

"It was only with me. I can promise you that. He liked seeing couples happy together."

They were interrupted by Ripley's voice over the radio. "Waits, the creature, how're we gonna seal it in?"

Waits adjusted his headset. "The spire was built to process high-value compounds dredged up from the gas giant. Piracy precautions are still in place. The tower can be shut off-vents, doors, everything-so, you build a cage around the creature, then Ricardo locks it down."

"You trust Ricardo to do this?" Raine whispered.

"I have no choice. He has the credentials to access certain systems, and there's only so much I can do from here." Waits turned his attention back to the radio and Ripley. The process was slow, instructions simple and minimal. Waits could hear just about everything over his headset. He found himself holding his breath when he heard the alien's hissing and screeching. His gut wrenched when he heard Ripley gasp or breathe heavily. _She's got that flamethrower, Jethro, she's OK._

Ricardo's voice broke the silence. "Waits, can you patch me through to Ripley?"

"I've already connected you," Waits replied.

"Ripley, there's an override command that allows you to initiate the emergency lockdown. It's on the terminal behind the reception desk."

Waits remained silent while listening to Ricardo guide Ripley. He saw no need to interfere or correct anyone. Everything was going smoothly-

"Is my exit open, Ricardo?" Ripley asked.

"Wait a minute." The deputy sounded panicked.

"Ricardo, is my exit clear?"

"Jesus, it's shut! It won't move!"

"What are you doing, Ricardo? Fix it!" Waits growled.

"I need more time!"

"I don't have more time!" Ripley hissed.

Raine was holding his breath, and bent his head in silent prayer. Waits bit back a frustrated curse. He covered his face, counting every heartbeat he could feel in his chest.

"OK, I got it! Get out, Ripley, now!" Ricardo ordered.

Waits swallowed, relief flooding him, yet something felt off . . . "Ricardo, how did you open it back up?"

"I had to suppress the alert. It was the only way to get Ripley out."

Raine's eyes widened. "Jesus, that means _everything_ she locked down was just reopened!"

Waits felt rage burn and swell in the pit of his stomach. "You let it out? We had it locked down, and you _let it out?!_" He drew in a breath, his ability to keep calm starting to diminish. "Ripley, it's still on your tail."

"Where should I go?" she asked.

Waits did some quick thinking. "Take the elevator to Gemini Labs. If it follows, we can still trap it there." He wasn't sure what to feel, but he was tired of crying. There was no time to cry, to be anxious. _All these people are counting on me to get rid of that creature._ "Ripley, Ricardo, we can't let it escape again, no matter what."

* * *

"I'm gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch when he gets back!" Jav shouted after Waits updated the group. "We could be reopening the comms right now, but because Ricardo's got no fucking _balls_, we're not!"

"Hey, take it easy, son!" Waits snapped. "We're all on the same fucking team here! None of you are even gonna think about killing one another! Locking down Gemini can still work. Relax."

Face red with anger, Jav took a breath before sitting down.

Raine looked up at Waits as he returned to the radio. "Can't necessarily blame Jav for being upset."

"No one can, but we can't start turning on each other." Waits rubbed his face, groaning. "This better work."

"I'm in Gemini, Waits," Ripley whispered over the radio.

"We need that whole facility powered up. There's a freight elevator you'll need to take, but ever since Seegson pulled funding from Gemini, it's been out of action."

There was more silence, more relaying of instructions. Waits gradually felt more optimistic when his screens showed power being restored to the labs. He kept glancing at Raine, then returned to Ripley when something lit up on his board. "That's it-elevator's online, Ripley. You're headed for a place called Project KG-348. Let me know when you're there." He held his breath until she responded several minutes later.

"Waits, I made it."

"Is it still after you?" he asked.

"I think so."

"I got a plan. Head for the labs." Again, he waited. Tension coursed through his body, and he felt Raine grip his shoulder.

"Waits, I'm in," Ripley said.

"The lab can be separated from the main station," Waits replied, trying to conceal his nerves. "Bring it back online, and systems can reconnect." _We're almost done. Come on, kid, I know you can do it. _He nearly clapped Raine on the shoulder when he saw a myriad of data and lights appear on the screens in front of him. "That's it! I can see a power spike! Now, reconnect the lab systems to Sevastopol from the console in the central lab. We're counting on you, Ripley."

A smile blossomed on Raine's face. "Can't believe it. She's got it. Holy cow."

Waits could still hear the alien over the radio. His hopes abruptly halted. _We can't let it escape again._ He looked over his dashboard, seeing the command to disconnect the labs. He could see from the radio's tracker that Ripley wasn't out of the labs yet.

The only sound he could hear was his own heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He could feel Raine's gaze on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he saw Lingard's face. _I don't want anyone else to end up like you, honey. _Tears threatened to choke him, and he struggled to swallow.

_I don't want to do this. I have no choice, though. If that thing gets out again, I'll never get another chance to kill it. I'll fail everyone! _His heart continued to throb faster and harder as his hand hovered over the command key.

"I'm sorry, Ripley."

* * *

_Question: If someone were to read this story before actually playing Isolation, how might they view Waits's actions having seen his perspective before Amanda's?_


	30. Chapter 30

_2137_

He pressed the command key. A warning light flashed.

"No! No!" There was a banging sound. "_Don't fucking do this to me!_" she shouted.

On his dashboard, Waits could see the lab disconnecting. His stomach heaved harder than it ever had in his life. A white flash of shock obscured his vision, and he stood up, staggering away from the desk. He threw away his headset, collapsing on his knees.

"Jesus!" Jav ran over with a first-aid kit.

Raine knelt by Waits. "Get me a water bottle, Jav."

Waits retched. Nothing came up. There was nothing to send up. He was locked on his knees, arms wrapped around his belly, heaving, retching. His heart was still pounding in his ears.

"Stay back and give him air," Raine ordered. "He's got dry heaves."

Waits felt every muscle in his torso clench. _What have I done? What have I DONE?! _He let out a moan. Ripley's scream and pleas echoed in his brain. He grabbed his head. He retched one more time, then tipped his back to scream. "_Dear God, what've I done?!_"

"What the hell is going on?" Jav asked.

"He disconnected Gemini from Sevastopol with the girl still in the lab!" Raine said.

Waits let out a mournful sound.

"Was the creature in there, too?" Jav looked at Raine.

"Yes." Raine opened a water bottle, but waited for any signs that Waits was calming down. At this point, it didn't look like that was happening anytime soon.

Jav looked like he was torn between celebrating and remaining silent. He knelt by Raine and Waits. "It's over, then. It's gone. We can . . . We . . ." He lost his words.

"I got it." Waits moaned, then sobbed. "I got it."

"You did it."

"I didn't want to have sacrifice anyone for it, though!"

"Waits, how many more of us would've died if you let that thing get out again? We can do battle with the fucking androids and Seegson Security, but not that fucking creature!"

"Jav, stop," Raine said, calmly. "Let him breathe."

The room fell silent, aside from Waits's breathing, sobbing, moaning, and retching. _What would Lingard think? What would Em think? _He managed to open his eyes, seeing puddles of his tears on the floor.

"Waits?" Raine whispered. "Take a deep breath . . . That's it . . . easy. Now, sit up . . . slowly."

As slow as he could possibly go, Waits sat back up on his knees. His face was red and wet.

"It's all over," Raine said. "I guess . . . that's all that matters now."

Waits nodded. Raine handed him the water bottle.

"Now what?" Jav asked. "Didn't he send that Samuels model to Apollo to make the Working Joes stop attacking us?"

"Will you be patient?" Raine snapped.

"Oh, don't make me put you in a headlock, Raine!"

"Stop . . ." Waits weakly held up his hand. "Just . . . please . . . s-stop." He struggled to stand. He struggled to put himself back in the mindset of a leader. _I didn't fail. I protected these people. I did my job._

After forcing himself to take a drink of water, Waits tried to stand. Raine helped, easing him up and back to his desk. The shock was still present, but it was fading, albeit slowly.

_I did what I had to do. Jav's right-how many more people would've been killed if I waited and that creature escaped again? It's gone now. I succeeded. Maybe I didn't save Lissa or Sterling or Morley or Lingard, but I kept everyone else in here from ending up like them. _Waits put his head in his hands. Through his fingers, he could see his headset lying on the floor. There was only static coming from it. He was afraid of picking it up, of listening. Either the lab module was so far away that the signal was out of range, or Ripley was truly gone.

"I should've gone out myself," Waits moaned.

Raine gestured for Jav to leave them alone, and pulled his chair closer to Waits. "Don't say that."

"Why? If I sacrificed myself . . . it'd . . ."

"Waits, none of us would have the heart to press the button. I couldn't. Jav couldn't. None of us. Hatcher, Relinka. No one. Not just because we'd be leaderless without you, but . . . I think most of us . . . really care about you. We've watched you grieve the last week or so, and it's difficult to watch. Yet, you still took charge. You still kept the supply runs going. You worried sick about us when we went out. You volunteered to go with us. You've already sacrificed your own health and strength by refusing to take food until each of us received our rations." Raine swallowed hard, and gripped Waits's shoulders. "You didn't do this because you wanted to kill her. I've gotten to know you the last few weeks, and I know that if there was an alternative, you'd have taken it. I watched you do this, and I could see it was the hardest decision you've ever made. I know you want this to end as much as the rest of us."

Waits couldn't muster any satisfaction. The weight of the creature had finally lifted from his shoulders, but a new weight had rested in its place. Guilt. The weight didn't rest on his shoulders, though; it rested on his heart. His chest felt like someone had filled it with lead. "Why don't you feel bad, son?"

"I do feel bad. I also know . . . bad things happen in life."

"What if that was someone you loved I just shot into space?"

"If she volunteered, then . . . it's something I'd have to live with. We all volunteer to go out for supply runs, despite knowing how dangerous they are." Raine looked lost for words. "I just . . . I-I wish I had something better to say. I know you didn't do this maliciously. What's done is done, and . . . now we move on to the next step. We all want to go home."

Waits nodded a little. "Yeah." He drew in a breath. "I gotta get you guys home."

"Just tell me your orders."

"I got nothing for you at the moment. I haven't heard anything from Samuels yet. Once he brings news from Apollo, then we'll figure out what to do next."

Raine leaned over in his chair to picked up the headset from the floor. "You'll need this, then." He gave Waits a sympathetic look. "I remember you telling me about Hazelton. What do you think he would've done?"

Waits shook his head. "Hazelton would've gotten all of you killed. Unintentionally, but he . . . he wouldn't be able to handle this. I've been in a lot of shitty situations, but . . . never as bad as this. Even . . . Even LV-112 was less of a clusterfuck."

"The colony attack by the Dheldroi?"

Waits nodded. "Yes. They jammed our radar and strafed the Marshal headquarters before we could get word out of what was going on. Twelve were killed in the first attack and most of us were wounded. Some of them died from their injuries because we couldn't call for help. We were trapped inside the complex while the fuckers sent in their ground troops and slaughtered the civvies." He suddenly felt like icy water had pulsed through his veins, and shivered hard. "A group of us managed to get out with whatever weapons we could get our hands on. We fought, and fought hard, until we ran outta ammunition. Bastards chased us around the colony. Shot whoever they saw. I got into a bunker with the rest of the surviving Marshals, and . . . couldn't do anything.

"It didn't take long for the Marines to show up because they had a base further up in the northern hemisphere, rather than off on another colony. Now, this is a heavily forested planet, which means if something catches fire, it'll spread fast, and the trees there produced a horrendous smoke. Very thick and acrid. That shit got in the bunker, and everyone was coughing so hard, we threw up. One after the other. Imagine being trapped somewhere with the stench of smoke, blood, vomit, and bodies starting to decompose all mixed together. I spent several hours in there, listening to . . ." Waits paused, his head starting to hurt with the memories, "screaming, explosions, gunshots, missiles. I was screaming a lot. I had ash and smoke in my lungs. I had . . . blood all over my clothing. People were dying all around me. I can . . . I can barely remember what happened when I was rescued. It's all in pieces. I know I wasn't . . . I wasn't myself when I was let out of the hospital. Couldn't handle loud sounds for awhile."

Raine was quiet for a moment. He looked down at his lap as he thought about what he heard. "I'd say that sounds worse than what's happened here."

"The difference between LV-112 and Sevastopol is that LV-112 lasted about forty-eight hours. We've been stuck here for almost a month."

Raine nodded. "Wow." He sighed. "Feels like time is just passing. How much, I . . . I haven't paid attention to how much time has passed. Before joining you, I was always focused on surviving the next day, or the next hour."

"Why did you and Jav join Sinclair in the first place?"

"We didn't 'join.' We're both medical personnel, so we were of some use to Sinclair. He still held us at gunpoint when treating someone. He picked on me, particularly, because I had the balls to talk about you."

"How come you didn't run earlier?"

"I wanted to run, but Jav got friendly with a couple of the engineers and techs, and they figured it was best to collect enough supplies and plan carefully rather than just bolting."

"That's fair." Waits adjusted the way he was sitting, his brain still rattled. The echoing in his mind was gradually fading.

"Are you . . . feeling a little better?"

"Starting to." Waits sighed. He looked at his headset. "Thanks for listening."

"Anytime."

Waits put his headset back on. His heart suddenly beat faster when he heard a familiar girl's voice and cough.

"Hello? . . . Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

_Oh my God . . . how is she alive?_ "Ripley? Is that you?" Waits struggled to contain his relief.

"Yes, Waits," Ripley snapped. "Me, you son-of-a-bitch! You locked me in! You blew the lab into space!"

"I had no choice. No choice at all! You saw that thing! You saw what it could do! I had to get it off this station, by any means necessary!" _Oh . . . maybe that wasn't the right thing to say to her right now, Jethro._

"Yeah. Use me as bait! Leave me to die!"

"And it Goddamn worked, Ripley, it Goddamn worked. I got that thing. Jettisoned it into the gas giant. The station's safe."

"There's that, and there's the fact that you're a _heartless bastard_. I'm heading back to the Bureau. We can discuss your methods there. _Ripley out_."

Waits felt as though someone drove a corkscrew hard into his chest. _Is that what I am? Am I really heartless?_

He searched his memories. He saw himself driving his father's truck out to Boston in the middle of the night when he was eighteen, just a few weeks before he headed to training. Em had called him, in tears. She had hitched a ride with some friends to the city; they had all gotten drunk and she had no money for a hotel room.

"Jethro, I'm alone in the street and I don't know what to do," Esmeralda sobbed.

"OK. First thing you're gonna do is stay calm," Waits replied. "Find somewhere safe to just hang tight. Message me the address. I'll find you. Don't worry."

It took him a little over an hour, but he made it to Boston, to the address of a hotel overlooking the harbor. As soon as he stepped in the lobby, Esmeralda jogged over to hug him. "Thank you," she said, voice muffled by his jacket.

"No problem. Let's get you home."

"Dad's gonna kill me over this."

"No. He'll be happy you're safe and unhurt. Don't worry about it."

_Was I heartless then? Em wouldn't think so._

Then there was Lingard. There was no way in hell she would think he was heartless. He had given her the key to his heart. She had gotten to see him at his most loving and sensitive. It became a bit of a joke between them that she "saw the mean son-of-a-bitch at his most sensitive."

The memories were endless. He had made her smile and laugh. She was always overjoyed to see him, hug him, kiss him. She told him he had a big heart, and he loved her so much it hurt.

At the moment, his heart was hurting. The residual grief for Lingard. The shock and fear from when he thought he killed the girl. A pang when he heard her crying. _I know I got a heart, and dammit, it hurts._

"You'll be able to talk to her," Raine said, softly. "Hopefully, you can work things out."

Another voice filled the headset. "Ripley? Ripley, it's Ricardo! You made it!"

"No thanks to Waits," Ripley said.

"He's a ruthless son-of-a-bitch. Always has been. Stubborn, too. If he'd ever listened to me, things would never have gone this far."

"He does know the radios are connected, right?" Raine whispered.

"I don't think he cares," Waits mumbled.

The conversation on the radio continued. "It's done now," Ripley replied.

"I'm sorry for fucking up with the lockdown earlier," Ricardo added.

"Forget it. You got me out in the end. I'll see you back at the Bureau."

There was a half-second of silence, then Jav howled, "_You treasonous bastard!_"

Both Waits and Raine stood up, entering the main part of the Bureau to see Ricardo had entered the room, greeted by a vengeful-looking Jav. Ricardo looked terrified, and his terror turned to shock when Jav swung his fist at his jaw.

"Hey, hey, knock it off!" Waits snarled.

"Did you not hear _one word_ he said?!" Jav screamed.

"I heard every fucking word! That doesn't give you the right to attack him!"

"You should remove him from his position as deputy! First, he lets the creature escape from Systech, then he insults you! What kind of Marshal staff do we have anymore?!" Jav turned back to Ricardo. "What kind of deputy are you, you asshole?!"

"Jav, that's enough! Touch him again, and I'll nail you to a desk by your fucking balls!"

Face contorted in anger, Jav backed down.

"I told every single one of you beforehand that I will not tolerate fighting amongst yourselves." Waits turned, catching the gaze of every survivor sitting in the Bureau. "We're in this together. I know that sounds fucking sappy and cheesy, but dammit, that's what it is! You all came here seeking my help, and fuck it, you're getting my help! I've had an obligation to serve and protect you all since I set foot on Sevastopol two years ago. No, I've had an obligation to serve and protect you all since I took the oath forty-one years ago! All I ask is that you not only listen to me, but you give as much as a damn about the other people in here as I am. We're all fighting to get out of here. Every single one of us probably has family that they'd like to see again back on Earth, and even if you don't have any loved ones, think about how you'd feel if you did. In all honesty, I can't say we haven't become some kind of a family in the weeks we've been here. I've gotten to know you all pretty well, and I do care about you like you're my brothers and sisters. I will not, repeat, _will not _leave any of you behind when rescue comes, and I want you all to make sure the person sitting next to you is put first."

Waits looked at Ricardo. "How's that for a ruthless son-of-a-bitch and a heartless bastard? I really should take away your badge and discipline you for insubordination, but I'm not going to, because I have no other Marshals, no one with any important credentials we might need to get out of here. Once we get back to civilization, you're gonna be in a shit-heap of trouble."

"Like you when Command finds out what you did to Ripley," Ricardo murmured.

Jav pulled out his revolver, flicking the safety off. "Piece of-"

Waits stepped in between him and Ricardo. "Put it away, Jav," he growled. "I'm not giving this speech again, son."

Putting the safety back on, Jav holstered his revolver.

"Now, let's get back to work. Ricardo, get on your station and let me know when the kid gets back. I want to talk to her in person-"

Waits turned around when he heard the doors open, and saw a young man gasping for breath. He was covered in white fluid. "The Joes . . ." he panted, "I-I dunno what's going on . . . They're leaving their designated areas! Attacking people! I . . . Kellis . . . he . . ." The man looked down, resisting a sob. "Dead."

Jav helped the panicked survivor to another room for treatment. Raine glanced at Waits. "This isn't good, sir."

"I know. They were a problem before, but we don't need them becoming a bigger problem now." Waits stepped over to where Ricardo was seated. "Let the kid know."

Ricardo still looked rattled from Jav's attack, but Waits could tell he cared about Ripley. "Rip, I'm about to rain on the parade; something's up with the androids."

"Something's been up with the damn androids since I got here," Ripley said.

"No, this is new. They've left their posts. We just saw some of them in a public area-that's not normal!"

"Great."

"Watch your back."

Anxiously, Waits put his headset back on. _I can't let her get killed by one of the sons-of-bitches out there. _He sat, heart pounding hard again.

"Waits, it's Ripley. What's going on with the androids?"

"I don't know," Waits said.

"What about the change in alert status?"

"Dammit, I don't know! I'm trying to contact Samuels. Maybe he knows what the hell Apollo is playing at." Waits switched radio channels. "Samuels? Samuels!" A growl started deep in his throat. "For fuck's sake, Samuels, will you give us an update?!"

A shriek was heard outside the Bureau. Human voices mixed with the mechanical ones of the androids. Waits picked up his shotgun. "Everyone capable of fighting, grab a weapon! Raine?"

"Yes?" Raine swallowed.

"Start getting ready to move people outta here in case the Joes try to break in."

Ripley's voice filled his headset. "Waits, for God's sake, Apollo's let the androids off the leash! They're attacking on sight!"

"I don't know what the hell this is," Waits said, controlling his breath. "They're not just responding to trespass violations. It's like they're . . . hunting."

"For who?"

"For everyone and anyone."

"What do you mean?"

Waits's blood froze when something began pounding on the doors. "Stand by." He looked around at the survivors gathered in front of him. "We're gonna split into two groups; one group is gonna start getting the sick and wounded outta here. The other's gonna stay behind and gather as much supplies as they can. I want everyone to head up to the apartments."

Not a single person was standing or sitting around after Waits gave his instructions. He was amazed at how calm everyone was. Only a few seemed shaken up and panicked.

"I need someone to hold this gentleman's IV drip!" Hatcher called.

"I got it!" Waits slung his weapon over his shoulder, taking the drip bag from Hatcher.

"Thanks." Hatcher and another medic lifted the stretcher, Waits walking alongside them.

"Get as many as you can in the elevator," Waits said. He moved out of the way of others coming in with stretchers. Once the elevator was full, the doors closed. Waits noticed Jav standing in front of him. "Where's Raine?"

"Helping the second group with supplies," Jav replied.

"OK."

Jav glanced at Waits. "You sound worried about him."

"About Raine? Of course I'm worried." For a moment, Waits wondered why he worried for Raine. _Is it because I have no one left? Everyone else I've cared for is gone._

The only other person he could think of was Em. She was alive. She was safe. He longed to see her again. He longed to apologize for being scarce for the last forty-one years. He longed to make up for so much lost time. Even if he lost everything here on Sevastopol, at least he would have Em to go back to.

Raine had been the only person out of all the survivors to talk to Waits as a person, to listen to him and understand what was going on in his mind. They connected, and trusted each other enough to where Waits would let Raine stay with him once they escaped and headed to Gateway. After all, Waits felt like he would need somebody to help him continue grieving Lingard.

Waits went back down with the group to retrieve more of the wounded. He spotted Raine holding one end of a stretcher when the elevator door opened. He stepped out of the elevator, and unslung his shotgun to hand it to Raine. "Here. You're gonna need this when you get outta here."

Raine looked at the shotgun. "Sir, that's yours."

"I know, but this is more effective against the sons-of-bitches. You'll need it."

"But . . . you don't have a shotgun if I take it. Sir, I've seen what the Joes can do."

"Raine, I'm putting you in charge. Get everyone out. You and Jav. If something happens to me, you two are the bosses."

The pounding continued. Jav was directing everyone else as they carried sick and wounded survivors out to another section of the Bureau to escape. Raine hadn't budged.

"Dammit, Raine, take the shotgun and go!"

"I can't leave knowing you could die!" Tears streamed down Raine's face.

Waits swallowed. "Son, you've trusted me the last couple weeks. I really need you to trust me now."

Raine's face and hazel eyes reddened. "Waits . . . y-you've . . . Please, don't . . . You can't-"

"I know you can do this, son."

Raine grabbed Waits's hand, and Waits pulled him in for a brief hug. "Thank you, Waits. For everything."

"You're welcome." Waits gave him the shotgun. "Go. Everything will be alright. If anything does happen, at least . . . at least I'll be able to see Lingard again."

"Raine, they're coming in! Let's get a move on, buddy!" Jav called.

The Working Joes had already broken into the hub, and were starting to get into the lobby. Waits swore to himself when he jogged in to find the androids walking so eerily calmly to the survivors still there, grabbing them and choking them. Waits couldn't help but feel he should have kept the shotgun, but knew he made the better choice giving it to Raine. _Just fight with whatever you have left! More people will die if you don't do something!_ He fired at the androids with his revolver. He stayed by the door, swearing aloud when the gun ran out of ammunition. Working Joes were grabbing anyone they saw. Rage boiled up in his chest and stomach as he smashed the handle of the revolver into an android's skull. "You bastards! _You murdering bastards!_ Leave them alone! _Stand down!_"

* * *

_Question: Is it possible Ripley could have come to see Waits's perspective if they had the chance to talk face-to-face?_


	31. Chapter 31

_2175_

Muffled voices surrounded Gorman. He could feel his heart still throbbing. He could feel himself being lifted off the ground. Pain was searing through his left arm.

"Hold his IV!" Maxie shouted.

"Gorman! _Gorman!_" Towers cried.

"Calm down! Hold his fucking IV bag! He'll be alright!"

Whatever consciousness was left faded. The only thing he could feel was his heartbeat.

Soon, there was nothing.

It felt like only five minutes had passed when Gorman's senses weakly attempted to return.

"He's going to need a transfusion ASAP!" Maxie called. "Get us out of here, now!"

The ground below moved. Gorman could hear the dropship engines. He couldn't react in any way. His consciousness faded again, but not before he heard Towers sobbing. "Gorman, no . . ."

* * *

The first sensation he felt was a dull ache in his left arm. Next, he heard a steady beeping, in time with his heartbeat. He was sleepy, but he managed to open his eyes. It didn't take him long to see he was lying in a hospital bed, in a clean white room. He was flooded with weakness, unable to move anything except his head and neck. Even that was limited, and he made a slight groan.

A door opened. Maxie walked in, all smiles. "How're you doing, Gunny?"

Gorman worked his jaw a little, then swallowed. "Very weak," he moaned, voice hoarse from not using it in awhile.

"You lost a lot of blood. You've been receiving a transfusion for the last few hours. I gave you something to help you sleep through it and let your body recover."

As his senses continued to wake, his thoughts began returning as well. Gorman drew in a breath. "The files," he rasped. "Where're my drives?"

"Towers took them when they finished. We gave them both to intelligence, but . . . they were a bit confused with one of them. Did you intend to download Seegson's records on a . . . Marshal Jethro Waits?"

"My great-uncle."

Maxie searched for words. "Would you . . . like that drive back?"

"Yes."

Maxie nodded. "Anything else? Do you feel like you can eat?"

Gorman shook his head. "No. Where's Towers?"

"Waiting to see you."

"Let her in."

"Are you sure?"

Gorman weakly nodded.

"Alright." Maxie left the room. A second later, Towers walked in. She was covered in soot and bruises, and her hair was a mess. Her face showed a mix of emotions; she didn't look sure whether to smile or cry. Without saying anything, she gave Gorman a hug.

"Easy, Towers," Gorman said. "Not so hard." He could feel and hear her crying in his hospital gown. Her tears soaked easily into the flimsy material.

"Dammit, Gunny, why didn't you listen to me?" Towers sobbed, looking at him with red, wet eyes. "Someone else could've taken care of those files!"

"You'll understand when you see what's on the drive." Gorman put his right arm over Towers. "I'm OK. That's all that matters."

"I don't need my sergeant getting killed on my first mission."

"Well, I didn't get killed. I'm alright." He gently rubbed her back. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." Towers's hug tightened, just a little. She didn't move, and Gorman didn't object to her staying.

Several minutes later, Maxie walked in, carrying a drive. "Got it. I'm not entirely-am I interrupting something?"

"No. Just leave the drive on the table. I'll get something to read the files when I feel better." Gorman was worn out from just talking. He had an overwhelming urge to sleep. Eyes half-closed, he looked down at Towers. "I'm not gonna wake up to random shit in my bed, am I?"

"No. Just me. I'm your random shit," Towers replied.

Gorman smirked. "OK."

* * *

He next awoke to find Towers was still with him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was enough for the transfusion to have finished while he was asleep. He felt a little more rested, but not enough to get up and walk around.

Towers stretched a little. "I think you're ready to eat," she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"I woke up a couple times and all I heard was your stomach rumbling."

Gorman was a little embarrassed, but couldn't deny he was hungry. "Yeah. Guess I'm ready for some breakfast." He sat up in bed when Towers let go. His left arm was still sore, and wrapped tight in bandages.

"Want me to go tell Maxie?"

"Sure." It was a challenge with one hand, but Gorman managed to prop up some pillows behind him to sit more comfortably. Towers left the room, and Gorman spent the next several minutes looking at the drive on the table next to him. He sighed, hoping he'd be able to leave the hospital soon so he could really read those files.

Maxie and Towers came back, with Towers holding a glass of orange juice. Maxie checked Gorman's vitals before giving him the OK to eat and drink. "They'll probably release you before noon," he said. "After that, you'll be allowed to recover before we have to head back up to Violet Rose for departure."

"Thanks," Gorman replied. "How long will the recovery be?"

"About a day, maybe two. Just don't strain yourself."

"Shouldn't be problem if Towers behaves." Gorman looked at the juice glass. "You didn't put salt in that, did you?"

"I kept an eye on her," Maxie said. "No salt."

Towers grinned. "Saving my pranks for when he gets better." She grabbed a chair when Maxie left, sitting next to the bed.

Gorman sighed, looking down at his drink. "I'm not sure I should tell Lydia what happened before we leave. I'd hate for her to be worried while I'm in hypersleep."

"I think she's gonna worry either way."

"Yeah." Gorman took a sip of the juice. "I'm going to call her as soon as I get out of here."

"Want me to leave you alone when you do?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to. Just don't be making faces behind me when the video feed is on."

"I'll try not to." Towers gave him another grin.

"You know, I don't like that smile of yours. Always makes me feel like you're up to something."

"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."

"Right. I'll still keep my guard up around you."

* * *

Gorman was released from the hospital as Maxie predicted, under orders that he was barred from strenuous physical activity. He was fine with that, as he felt too tired to do much of anything.

He kept feeling his pocket for the drive as he headed from the Netrayas hospital to the Marine base just outside the city. Despite his exhaustion, he was excited and nervous to see what all was on it. The mystery of Great-Uncle Jethro wasn't something that plagued him day-in and day-out, but everything Gorman had learned over the years had kept him interested in finding out what happened. The fact that his grandmother had told him repeatedly that he looked like her brother kept him interested, and the fact that he had overheard her saying, "He's starting to act like Jethro."

How was he like his great-uncle, though? It seemed like he asked at all the wrong times, because he never got an answer. He remembered the story about his uncle going out at an ungodly hour to get a part for his truck. _I would've set everything down and waited until morning to keep working on it._

He remembered being told that Jethro was bad at communicating verbally. _I guess I can see myself in that. After all, I did fail public speaking a few times._

He remembered being told that Jethro tended to love strongly. That he was extremely loyal and more selfless than most people who knew him believed. _I love pretty intensely. My wife, my family . . . even Towers. She's just a friend, but that doesn't mean I love her less than anyone else._

Gorman sat in front of a screen, typing in a code to contact Lydia. He was patient, waiting a full ten minutes before his signal connected. He smiled when he saw his wife's face flicker on the screen. "Hello, my darling."

Lydia smiled as well, and she looked like she was about to cry. "Scott."

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just happy to see you. I was . . . I-I dunno. I was worried the last couple days. I had a bad dream something happened to you."

"I'm alright. I . . . did get hurt-" Gorman lifted his left sleeve to show Lydia his bandage, "I lost a lot of blood, but I'll be OK."

"Do you know when you're coming home?"

"They're giving me a couple days to recover and take it easy. We should be heading out at some point this week, so . . . I guess be ready in three weeks."

"I will. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too." Gorman's heart ached with longing. "I've been thinking about you. I know I missed Saint Patrick's Day, but I'll make it up to you when I get back. Whaddaya say? Corned beef, tea, and music for my first night home?"

"Scott, you're going to be too tired to cook."

"I will always have the energy to do things for you. Even if I'm a bit anemic now."

A happy little girl's voice in the background said, "Is that Uncle Scott?"

"Yes, sweetie, it is." Lydia disappeared and returned with her young niece, Olivia. "Say hello."

"Uncle Scott, Uncle Scott, look-" Olivia opened her mouth, "I lost a tooth!"

Gorman grinned. "You did? Well, don't forget to put it under your pillow for the tooth fairy."

"When are you coming back?"

"Soon."

"Today?"

"I wish. Couple weeks, OK, honey? Hey, if you're really, really good, and you pick up all your toys and practice your handwriting for kindergarten, maybe Aunt Lydia will take you to South Carolina to see me when I return to Earth." Gorman winked at Lydia.

Lydia shook her head, grinning. She set Olivia down. "You really think putting a six-year-old on a plane is a good idea, Scott?"

"She was the most well-behaved flower girl at the wedding. I think she can handle flying."

"Alright, I trust your judgement."

"Thanks." Gorman was suddenly aware of a presence behind him. A finger poked his cheek, then his jacket hood was pulled over his head. He sighed and smirked. "Hello, Towers."

"Hi." Towers dragged a chair over, and waved to Lydia on the screen. "Is this the Mrs. Gorman he keeps going on about?"

"Yes," Lydia said. "Are you the young lady who's been torturing my husband with pranks?"

"That would definitely be me, ma'am."

"Shockingly, we're friends, now." Gorman took his hood off. "She'll be a disciplined Marine eventually."

"I saved your ass this past mission."

"You did, and I thanked you." Gorman pushed Towers away by the back of her chair. "Honey, I'll call you again when we're about to leave Violet Rose."

"OK," Lydia said. "I love you, Scott."

"I love you, too."

* * *

"It is not that cold out, Gorman, why are you wearing a jacket?" Towers asked as the two entered a café.

"_I'm_ cold," Gorman replied. "I'd like a big cup of hot chocolate, that's for sure." He set a small computer on a table. "Could you get that running while I order drinks?"

"Sure. Get me a glass of rum."

"You are eighteen!"

"I'm just kidding. Can I have a hot chocolate, too?"

Gorman glared at her. As he approached the counter, he noticed there weren't a lot of people in the café. A pair of Marines were seated by a window, playing cards, smoking cigarettes, and drinking coffee. A tired-looking woman was sitting at the counter, looking down at the glass of liquor in front of her, a lock of dark hair hanging down over her forehead. She looked at Gorman once, but Gorman could have sworn she looked at him again.

He carried the two mugs of hot chocolate, both overflowing with whipped cream, back to the table where Towers had the bulky laptop open.

"I put the drive in," she said. "Who's Marshal Waits?"

"That's my great-uncle," Gorman replied.

Towers's eyes widened. "Wow. He looks . . . a lot like you."

"Yeah." Gorman sighed. "That's what my grandmother said, too. He was her brother."

"So, this is what you risked your life for?"

Gorman nodded. "Gran passed away a couple months ago without knowing what exactly happened to Jethro. According to these files, his last known post was on the Seegson station Sevastopol, where he became Head Marshal. The station apparently had a severe malfunction that resulted in the whole thing descending into the atmosphere of KG-348, where it burned up. Kinda suggests he died on the station-" Gorman paused. "There's a ton of messages in here . . . from him to Gran . . . all unreceived by her. Odd."

Towers read through them along with Gorman. "Look, he mentions the long-range comms were down."

"It sounds like something really bad was going on . . . Jesus, right around the date the station blew."

Towers frowned. "Does he say what?"

"Not really. He talks a lot about feeling lost and uncertain. No details about what was going on."

"Sounds like kind of an emotional person. Or he can't really discuss what had happened."

"My guess is a bit of both. Gran said he wasn't great at communicating his emotions, but when he was upset, he'd let you know."

Towers glanced at one of the images on-screen. "He looks like a sourpuss. Bit like you when we first met."

Gorman opened the picture files. His jaw dropped slightly when he found several photos of a much younger Jethro Waits. "Huh . . . Some of these are from 2127. I believe . . . that's him in this group photo for the LV-112 Marshal staff."

"Gotta be. Looks like you."

"Yeah. Right before the sudden attack by the Dheldroi. I knew he was involved with that, but I never found out to what extent. Doesn't look like there's anything here about it." Gorman took a breath. "I'd have to go to LV-112 and see if I can access the colony's records. That's a bit of a trip, though; a month from Earth, but only two weeks from LV-510."

Towers took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Who's that?"

"Who's what?"

"This woman."

Gorman recognized the woman in the photo Towers was pointing at as the same he had seen in the birthday message to his grandmother. _Doctor Lingard. _"I think . . . she's Jethro's girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? He looks kinda old to just be on a girlfriend. Was he divorced?"

"No. He never married at all."

"Was he a womanizer?"

"No. He was very loyal, I heard." Gorman eyed the pictures. "He looks happy with her. They both look happy."

"They're kinda cute, to be honest with you," Towers said. "You're right; they do look happy."

From the corner of his eye, Gorman noticed someone approaching them. The woman from the counter. "How do you know Waits?"

Gorman glanced up, a little stunned at the woman's approach. She was struggling to conceal some kind of emotion, but her bloodshot brown eyes betrayed everything.

Towers gave a confused look first to the woman, then Gorman. Silently, she reached into her jacket for her sidearm, and Gorman gestured for her to stop.

"Relax," he mouthed. He looked up at the stranger. "I'm Waits's grand-nephew. I've been trying to find information about what happened to him on Sevastopol."

"Isn't it obvious? Plus, that was thirty-eight years ago. The station exploded and the bastard died with it. There's your answer."

Towers frowned.

Gorman gave the woman a sympathetic look. "I don't think Jethro was a bastard. None of these documents or messages suggest he was, and my grandmother certainly didn't think he was."

The stranger's eyes closed, and she pulled out a chair to sit across from Gorman. She looked down at the table, taking a deep breath. Tears rolled down her face. "Why do you want to know what happened?"

"Gran passed away not that long ago. She knew Sevastopol was destroyed, but she was somehow convinced Jethro escaped and just disappeared. He was her older brother, and they were pretty close, even though he was distant because of his job. I just . . . I-I know she'll never know now, but I was close to her, and she told me that I looked like him quite a bit."

The woman looked Gorman in the eye, and studied his face. She let out a soft sigh. "You do look like him. I thought I was imagining things when I saw you up at the counter, but . . . turns out I wasn't. You're actually related to him." She fell silent again.

"Did you know him somehow?" Gorman asked. "I'm getting the impression that you did."

The woman nodded. "Yes." She drew in a breath, and took a napkin to dry her tears. "My name is Amanda Ripley. I . . . was the only person to escape Sevastopol."

"Did you live there?"

"No. I went . . . I went with a ship to get some personal things. The . . . The flight recorder of the _Nostromo_. My mother was on that ship, and I'd been trying to find out what happened to her. When we got to Sevastopol, it was in chaos. A creature . . ." Amanda looked as though words had caught in her throat. "A big . . . nightmare . . . alien creature. It . . . got on board the station . . . through another ship. Waits was trying to kill it. From what I found, the entire station had been dealing with this . . . thing for about a month. His explosive traps hadn't worked, so . . . he . . . he made a new plan, and I . . . volunteered to do it. I volunteered before ever knowing what it was. His plan was to trap the creature in one of the spires. When that didn't work, he sent me up to a lab. The lab was able to be detached from the station entirely. That much I knew. What I didn't know was that . . . he'd jettison it before I was able to get out and leave the creature behind."

"Was it an accident?"

"No. He said he was sorry before . . . actually doing it. I was able to escape with a spacesuit, and when I got back on Sevastopol . . . I didn't want to hear his side."

"It sounds like he was desperate to get that creature off."

"I know that now." Amanda took a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts. "He died before we were able to discuss what happened."

"So, he didn't die when the station detonated?"

Amanda shook her head. "No. The station's central computer system was under orders to protect the creature. Their androids . . . Their androids were turned loose and they attacked everyone they saw. They . . . ended up breaking into the Marshal Bureau, and . . . Waits had been strangled to death by one of them. I can still hear it. He was trying to get the androids to leave the civilians he was guarding in the Bureau, and I could hear him being choked out over my radio."

Gorman felt nauseated. _Jethro was murdered. That would've been hard for Gran to take . . . Either way, she should have known the truth. _"I can tell this wasn't easy for you to talk about."

"I haven't told anyone since it happened, and . . . there's a lot more, but I'd rather not talk about it in a public place." Amanda glanced around. "What's your name?"

"Scott Gorman."

"OK. Gorman . . . If you want to know the whole story, we need to meet somewhere private. I have to get back to work, but . . . could we talk again tonight?"

"Sure. Where would you like to meet?"

"There's a big alley between the Emerald Hotel and a Greek restaurant. I'll be there around-" Amanda look at her watch, "six-thirty."

"Six-thirty. I'll remember that." A brief thought came to Gorman's mind. "If you don't mind me pointing this out, I think you look nice for someone who had to only be in their twenties thirty-eight years ago. Don't look like you've aged at all, to be quite honest."

"I'll explain everything later." Amanda turned to leave them quickly, but paused when she saw Gorman holding out his hand. "What?"

"Thanks for telling me, and it was nice meeting you."

She looked like she was resisting a smile, and she took Gorman's hand to shake it. "Nice to meet you, too."

* * *

_Question: Is the way Gorman convinced Amanda to talk about her past similar to how Waits convinced Lingard to open up about hers?_


	32. Chapter 32

_2175_

"Are you seriously going out to meet with this person?" Towers asked. "You don't know each other. She might be a psychopath that'll kill you because of what your uncle did."

Gorman snorted. "I doubt it. Besides, have you no faith in me?"

"Oh, I have faith in you. It's _her_ I'm not so sure about. Why do you think it's a good idea you see her alone?"

"I feel like she'll be more willing to talk about what happened if it's just me."

The two were sitting in the base lounge, alone. The rest of the unit was off either in the armory or the gym, patiently waiting for the announcement to pack their bags and get ready to go home.

Towers bounced a rubber ball off the wall, playing catch with herself. "Last time you didn't listen to me, you nearly died."

"This is different." Gorman tried to get comfortable on the couch, draping a blanket over himself. "Could you wake me when it's almost time to go meet Amanda?"

Towers sighed. "Fine. If you really think going to talk to her is still a good idea, I won't stop you." She looked at him, noticing his shivering. "Geez, Gorman, we'll have to line your bed with napalm until you get better." She threw another blanket on him.

"That's actually not a bad idea," Gorman replied. He burrowed deeper into the blankets.

Towers watched him. "Do you want a cuddle-buddy?"

"My 'cuddle-buddy' is my wife. I only let you snuggle with me in the hospital because you were upset."

"Can I at least give you a hug?"

"Fine."

Towers put her arms under the blankets to hug Gorman. "Just get better soon so I can put more salt in your coffee and windup cockroaches in your drawers again."

Gorman smirked. "Oh, for a moment there, I thought you actually cared about me."

"I do care. I'm just joking. Like I always do." Towers patted Gorman's head before letting go. "I'll wake you up later. Go to sleep."

* * *

Gorman was only half-awake when he felt as though someone was watching him. He could hear breathing that wasn't his own, and he opened his eyes to see the smiling beak of a rubber ducky right in his face. _Oh, Goddammit, Towers-_

"Rise and shine, Gunny!" Towers squeezed the toy, shattering the silence of the lounge with a chorus of squeaking. "Time to go meet your new friend! Make sure you have pants on!"

Gorman gave her a dirty look. "I know I told you to wake me up, but you couldn't wake me up like a normal person?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Groaning, Gorman sat up. "Hopefully, my only regret will be leaving you alone on base for a few hours."

"Don't worry about me, Gunny."

"Oh, I'm going to worry." Gorman left the lounge, stretching and rubbing his arms to get more blood flowing. His left arm was starting to hurt, and he contemplated taking a painkiller. _It's not bad now, but I don't want it to get worse while I'm out._

He entered his bathroom with caution, checking every nook and cranny for Towers's handiwork. Everything Maxie had given him at the hospital was neatly lined up on the sink. A bottle of painkillers. Extra tape and bandages. A bottle of a powerful antibiotic in case that animal that attacked him was carrying some kind of bacteria. So far, he saw no need for it. He didn't feel warm at all, and he hoped his temporary anemia wasn't masking chills brought on by fever.

He hoped Lydia would keep this between them. This certainly wasn't the first time he had been wounded, but every single time, telling his family produced the same reaction: "Why don't you do something less dangerous?"

"If he's anything like Jethro, he won't quit. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever," his grandmother had said. "He loves it."

Gorman could remember being told that his great-uncle was known to spit in the face of death, that he put himself in harm's way when his fellow Marshals or civilians needed him. The more he read, the more he felt like Jethro would have been proud that Gorman picked a job as dangerous and vital as vent infiltration.

After swallowing a painkiller with water, Gorman put on a change of warmer clothes. He left Valen in charge for the next few hours, though he couldn't promise he would be back before curfew. After eight, buses stopped going to the base. Gorman would have to walk.

Not wanting Towers to worry, Gorman figured it was best to take a weapon. He didn't think Amanda was secretly seeking vengeance, but he did know that nighttime brought out the more seedy individuals. He slid his Mk24 into a holster he could easily conceal under his jacket.

In the western horizon, the sun was beginning to set. Blue merged with orange as light began spilling through the leaves of the jungle canopy not too far from the base perimeter. To the east, down the hill, Gorman could see the lights of downtown Netrayas turning on. All was quiet until a bus rolled up to the gates. Gorman displayed his pass as he stepped on. The bus was empty, which was a surprising since this was usually the time Marines wanted to go out on the town and have some fun.

The bus pulled away from the gates. It made its way around the base perimeter, disappearing into the dense jungle, which grew darker the further the sun set. Eventually, it returned to the light, heading down a largely empty road that would merge with a street full of identical-looking homes built for Marines' families. After going through a checkpoint, the bus would go down another road to get to the city.

Gorman sat upright when they came to the checkpoint. A sergeant walked in, looking around for any disorderly Marines, and checking the driver's credentials. He gave Gorman a nod and a smile before stepping off the bus.

Things grew busier as they entered the city. The driver stopped at a designated drop-off and pickup point, where Gorman got off. It was no different than when he took leave in Chicago. _Now all I gotta do is find the Emerald Hotel._

The hotel was a few streets over. It was almost six, and Gorman was hoping he would make it to the alley on time. He quickly found it wasn't difficult to miss this hotel-there was a vibrant green fountain outside of it. Next door was, just as Amanda told him, a Greek restaurant.

A thought struck him. Instead of heading right into the alley, Gorman entered the restaurant, getting into a short line leading to the café portion. As he stood and waited, he hoped he wouldn't have to wait too long. He breathed a sigh of relief when he walked up to the counter, and ordered two cups of coffee to go. Once he received his order, he made his way through the dinner rush crowd to get back outside.

He entered the alley to see someone's sneakers sticking out next to a dumpster. As he drew closer, he saw they belonged to Amanda, sitting alone with her head down.

"Hey," Gorman said. He held out one of the foam cups. "I brought you a little something."

"Why?" Amanda asked.

Gorman shrugged. "Why not? Did it to be polite, and sometimes it's better to have something hot to drink while having a conversation. Good way to break the ice, too."

Amanda looked a little hesitant, but took the cup from Gorman. "Thanks. Where'd you get it?"

"Next door, from the restaurant." He sat next to her, carefully taking the lid off his cup. A delicious-smelling steam floated upward.

Amanda watched him for a minute, then sighed as she took the lid off of her cup to let the drink cool. "I guess we've got something in common," she said. "We're both searching for relatives. Only difference is that you now know what exactly happened to yours."

Gorman took a sip of his coffee. The pleasant heat of the thick drink flooded his body. "Yes. I just wish Gran knew."

Amanda fell silent again. "I have a vague idea of what happened to my mother. Haven't searched since, and . . . I'm not fully sure I can or should anymore."

"You said there was more to this story, and that you'd rather discuss it in private."

"Yeah. Remember how I said that the androids on Sevastopol were turned loose by their central system? Well . . . that wasn't a malfunction. It was a deliberate order. At some point before my ship arrived, someone had bought the station. Weyland-Yutani. Apparently . . . they wanted the creature, and they reprogrammed Apollo to protect it and kill everyone, because every human being on that station was a threat to it. It was odd, because I thought Waits had gotten rid of the only one." Amanda shook her head. "Turns out there were more, and he didn't know. They built an entire nest under the station's reactor. Purging it didn't work. Nothing seemed to work except . . . the whole station disintegrating. The gravity stabilizers were damaged and Sevastopol began falling into the planet's atmosphere. Not before . . . Not before I found some shred of information about what happened to my mother.

"She ran into the same type of creature. It killed everyone on the _Nostromo_. She had to destroy the ship, and she escaped on a lifeboat. Obviously, something else must've happened, because there's no fucking reason why it should take fifteen years for her to get back. Fifteen is now fifty-three. It'll be fifty-four next year. Something else happened."

"I'm sorry," Gorman said.

Amanda looked at him. "I'm going to be honest with you, Gorman, I won't be able to get over how much you sound like your uncle. Just . . . here I am, sitting with someone I should be much older than." She drew her legs up, setting the coffee on the ground before putting her head on her knees. "This wouldn't be the case if I could've just gone home."

"What happened? How'd you escape Sevastopol in the first place?"

"I had to spacewalk out to the _Torrens_, but . . . the creatures had gotten on the ship, so I . . . I ejected myself from it. I . . ." She hugged her knees tightly, shivering.

Without a word, Gorman put his arm around her. He was glad he had taken that painkiller beforehand; moving his arm would've been a bit more challenging without it. He didn't pressure Amanda to keep talking. Despite the stiff and torn muscles attempting to resist his movements under the bandages, he gently rubbed Amanda's shoulder. It was best to let her talk at her own pace. It was best to just listen. He felt like that was all she wanted.

"I was left floating in space till another ship picked me up," Amanda sobbed. "They took me back to Earth. My mistake was . . . trying to expose what had happened, until I was threatened by Weyland-Yutani. I left Earth. Went to LV-510. I figured it was best to join a small cargo ship with long hypersleep journeys. I took a fake name. You're the first person in thirty-eight fucking years to hear my real name."

"So, I'm guessing extended hypersleep is why you don't look like you've aged much."

"Yeah." Amanda looked up, taking in a breath. Her face was wet with tears. She locked eyes with Gorman. "I threw my life away. I couldn't just . . . get over it and live like everyone else. I just had to take the chance when they were looking for engineers in the region the _Nostromo_ disappeared. I just had to take the chance when Samuels approached me saying the flight recorder had been found. I threw everything away! Mom . . . wasn't even there for me that often before she disappeared. Back for my eleventh birthday my ass."

"You still cared. You wanted answers. Nobody can blame you for that."

Amanda put her head back on her knees. "At least no one'll go searching for me if I disappear while on a job."

Gorman looked at her, his heart breaking for her. "Don't say that."

"It's true, though. Mom's gone. There's no fucking way a lifeboat's cryotube can sustain someone for fifty-some-odd years. I have no idea where my biological father is or whether or not he cares. Any friends I had are probably either dead or don't care. I can't fucking bring myself to tell my ship's captain, even though he's been the nicest to me all these years. What do I have left?"

"Me."

Amanda sighed. "Great. Marshal Waits's fucking nephew cares. What an achievement."

Gorman's heart sank. "I'm sorry you've become so bitter. I don't think this is your fault, though. Plus, I'm getting the impression . . . that you want someone to know, and care. Why else would you have opened up to me so fast?"

"Because somehow I knew you weren't going to blab to anyone in Weyland-Yutani about me. Not only that, you're a descendent of someone who died on Sevastopol as a result of them trying to get a fucking specimen. You and your family are probably owed money for that, so why would you try to shut me up? What does it matter, though? It's been almost forty years. No one's going to want to dig up the Sevastopol incident. Even if we did, who the hell wants to track down every relative of everyone who died on Sevastopol?"

"It might not happen today, but it could happen someday. I wouldn't assume this is going to be the rest of your life. Things can change for you. I'd say things have changed right now."

"Why do you say that?"

"You finally told someone about what's been traumatizing you."

There was more silence. Amanda kept staring straight ahead. "I guess you're right. I wasn't expecting to meet you. I thought I was just going to hang around for a few days before . . . before going back to sleep for another few months. Nothing would ever happen. Nothing has happened for me in a long time." She sighed again, then looked at Gorman. "What else do you want?"

"If I were to find out anything about your mother, how would I get ahold of you?"

"Oh, please, I'm not going down that road again. I gave up a long time ago."

Gorman paused to think. "If I just wanted to say 'hello,' and ask how you're doing, how would I contact you?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

Gorman glanced at his watch. "If that's all, then . . . I better head back to base." He picked up his coffee before standing. A part of him didn't feel like leaving Amanda alone here, but he also knew she had been on her own for a long time. As he turned to leave, he heard her stand.

"Gorman?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"The name I go by is Kip Lezura. My ship is called the _Teal Nova_."

"I'll remember that." Gorman smiled. "Remember my name, too. Just in case you ever need someone, or just want to chat. Oh, and remember to take care of yourself."

Shyly, Amanda nodded. "You, too." She held out her hand, and Gorman took it, gently squeezing it. She didn't let go as she opened her mouth to say something. For a moment, she hesitated, then said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Gorman turned, occasionally looking over his shoulder at Amanda. Once he entered the street, he knew it was likely going to be a very long time until they saw each other ever again.

He jumped when he heard someone trip and knock over a trash can. Whirling around, he saw Towers lying on the sidewalk. "Dammit," she spat. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

"Are you OK?" Gorman asked.

"I'm fine." Towers picked herself up.

"What are you doing out here? I don't remember you getting a pass."

"I snuck out with you!"

"Why?"

"Because I was afraid something was going to happen to you."

Gorman folded his arms over his chest. "Really? No. I'm not buying this bullshit from you. You tagged along-which is against the rules, by the way-because you wanted to play another prank on me. Maybe I was _wrong_ in giving you a second chance and letting my guard down around you!"

Towers looked down at the sidewalk. "That's not true."

"And for the love of God, _you_ could've gotten hurt! Do you have any idea how I would feel if I found out you had gotten seriously injured? I would never forgive myself!"

"Oh, so you do care."

"Of course I care!"

They stood in silence for a minute. Towers made eye contact with Gorman. "Is she crazy?"

"Is who crazy?"

"That woman we met in the café earlier."

"No. She's not crazy. She needed someone to talk to." Gorman sighed, uncrossing his arms. "I'll tell you about it when we get back to base."

Towers walked alongside him, not hesitating to grab Gorman's arm. "I really was worried."

"I know you were. I probably should've told you I brought my sidearm."

"You should have. Or else I would've stayed behind and rigged your shower with confetti."

* * *

Gorman was thrilled when his unit finally received the order to return home, though there was a part of him that wanted to see Amanda one more time.

He had other things to take care of. While he dug through the messages left by Jethro, he came across one that was probably sent and archived before the attack by the androids. In it was possibly his very last "I love you" to his sister.

Gorman knew what he had to do. Even if his grandmother wouldn't find out what really happened, it was best she knew her brother had loved her till the end.

When they came out of cryosleep at Gateway, the Marines wasted no time in boarding a shuttle back down to South Carolina. Gorman's heart was in his throat. He knew his wife and niece were waiting for him.

He saw nothing else when he saw Lydia near the terminal as the unit stepped off the shuttle. He dropped his duffel bag, opening his arms to let his wife run into them. She hugged him hard, and he lifted her slightly to spin her around. No words were said as they tightly squeezed one another. Lydia was breathing hard and crying, arms wrapped around Gorman's neck.

"Darling," Gorman whispered. "I'm alright."

"I know." Lydia looked up at him. "Jesus, you scared me."

"I'm sorry. I'm here, now." He smiled at her, though tears were running down his face as well.

She kissed him, he nuzzled her, and they both gently bumped foreheads before kissing. Their passionate moment was interrupted by a little girl saying, "Is it my turn for a hug from Uncle Scott?"

"Did you get a hotel room?" Gorman whispered.

"Yes," Lydia replied.

"OK. We'll cuddle later." He turned to Olivia. "Yes, it is your turn for a hug from Uncle Scott." Grinning, her picked her up. "Oh, dear, you're getting so big that soon I won't be able to do this anymore!"

Olivia shrieked with laughter. "What about piggyback?"

"You want a piggyback ride? OK." Gorman set her down and crouched so she could climb on his back. "And . . . upsy-daisy! Legs around my belly, sweetheart. Dangling hurts my neck."

Towers picked up Gorman's duffel bag and walked over, grinning. "Aww, she's adorable, Gunny."

"Towers," Gorman said, "this is my niece, Olivia. Olivia, this is my coworker, Towers."

"Her hair's in a ponytail, too!" Olivia chirped.

Towers held out Gorman's bag. "I take it you want me to leave you all alone?"

"For now, no offense," Gorman replied. "I . . . I have to take a trip up to Massachusetts. It's personal."

Lydia gave Gorman a confused look. "Massachusetts? Why?"

"I'll explain on the way to the hotel."

* * *

As they had done just two months prior, Gorman and Lydia stepped out of their car in the lot facing the cemetery. It was a much nicer day than it was when they first when to visit Esmeralda's freshly dug gravesite. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Grass had begun to cover the grave. Someone, likely one of Gorman's parents, had placed a tiny jar of paper four-leaf clovers by the headstone. A lump formed in Gorman's throat as he knelt in front of the stone. He unzipped one of the pockets on his jacket, and pulled out a thumb drive.

On the drive was Jethro Waits's last message. His last "I love you."

Gorman swallowed past the lump, and took a breath. "Hey, Gran. Hope . . . Hope you're resting well. I got some news for you about . . . about Jethro. I found out what actually happened. He . . . He didn't die when Sevastopol blew up. He was . . . murdered by an android. All these years later, I managed to find a lot of his documents, and he . . . he sent a lot of messages that never got to you. His last one . . ." Gorman looked down, clutching the drive. "He wanted to make sure you know he loves you." He kept his head down for several minutes, then drew in another breath. Gently, he dug a small hole next to the grave, and placed the drive in. He stared at it, then scooped the dirt back into the hole.

Lydia quietly walked over, touching Gorman's shoulder after he had finished burying the drive. "You OK?"

"Yeah." Gorman sighed. "I'll be alright."

Lydia helped him stand. "Do you feel like . . . you've achieved something?"

Gorman nodded. "Yeah. I got my answers. I hope . . . both Gran and Jethro can rest." His thoughts briefly turned to Amanda, and how she never got conclusive results with her search for her mother. _One day, she will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but perhaps soon._

Holding Lydia's hand, Gorman turned to head back to his car. "I should probably get back to base soon," he said.

"Why's that?" Lydia asked.

"I've left Towers alone for too long."

* * *

_Question: How might Waits have assisted Amanda with her search for her mother if he had survived Sevastopol?_

_Author's Note: "Burning Bridges" will be undergoing a series of edits for chapters 13-16 and 23-30. This was a very long ride and one I'm proud to have taken, especially since this is the first story of mine to have turned into an audiobook.  
_

_Drake will be returning soon, along with some interesting treats that Denal Douglas and I have been preparing for some time. We're also going through the entirety of the series for editing, so new material won't be happening for a little while. The edits are to adjust the plotlines and characters, and address continuity errors that we've found while rereading through the series. Some books will be undergoing some pretty massive changes, so feel free to go back and reread them over the next several days. Happy reading, - Cat._


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